


Dragon's Heart

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Aziraphale is a priest, Blood, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, I smooth it all over in the end, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Torture, human au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-27 06:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: “No dear Aziraphale. It must live” She answered him, and turned her gaze to the massive, sleeping beast. Just then Aziraphale noticed the great pool of dark blood that surrounded the thing where it lay. Blood from its wounds. He looked down at his feet and saw the dark blood pooling around his simple cloth shoes, soaking into the woolen fabric. He felt no revulsion or surprise over this. Only sadness and pity for the poor creature.“It must live” the goddess repeated. “And you must go to it”Not one to refuse the request of a deity, Aziraphale nodded. “Very well then my Goddess” he replied. “When shall I go?”“At once” she replied. “And you must tell no one”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 111
Kudos: 359
Collections: Alternate Omens, Bittersweet Good Omens, Courts GO Re-Reads, Ineffable Delights to Sink Your Teeth Into





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to try my hand at a fantasy tale. I grew up reading fantasy novels by Anne McCaffrey and David Eddings and Robert Jordan, and loving movies like Lord of the Rings and Ladyhawke. I thought Aziraphale and Crowley's dynamic might work well in a fantasy human(?) AU. 
> 
> There are definitely some character diversions here. And also, there be dragons. Or... one dragon anyway.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! As always, your comments are so very wonderful and appreciated. <3

Aziraphale Garnet Fell was born the son of the royal family of House Fell. His father was the King of a the northern kingdom, his mother a renowned western beauty, who’d married his father to secure positive relations with her home lands, and to open up trade routs through the western mountains. From their union were born four sons, Aziraphale being the eldest. His brothers, Gabriel, Uriel and Michael were burly, brutish lads. Always running here and there, hurling mud clots and stones at each other and quarreling. They were sturdy, loud, hale and hearty and enjoyed, wrestling and games of shinty and horseshoes. As they grew older, their tastes expanded to hunting fox and boar, and to jousting. They took after their father, a barrel chested man with dark eyes and a thick shock of dark hair (shot through with silver as he advanced in age), who loved physicality and combat. For all their rough and tumble behavior, they were also vain boys, and lusty, often chasing after village girls and getting drunk in the town tavern when puberty hit.

Aziraphale by comparison was quieter, like his mother. He shared her love of reading (rare for a woman of her time in the northern lands) and her pale, white blond hair and light, gray-green eyes. Physically, he was shaped more like his father and brothers, being that he was stocky, thick around the middle, with strong shoulders and sturdy legs, but unlike them, he preferred reading, writing, studying music and art by devouring what few books could be bought through the trade routes with gold coin and wolf pelts. 

His mother indulged his literary interests, perhaps remembering what it had been like to be a thoughtful, intelligent child among a passel of sisters who could talk of nothing but silken gowns and eligible bachelors. She’d married Aziraphale’s father because he’d seemed decent and because he wasn’t bothered that she enjoyed reading and had a mind of her own. He was gone for much of the month on extended hunting trips or diplomatic visits to the Kings whose land abutted their own to the east and west and to break up skirmishes along their southern boarder. And so she’d been given ample time to teach her thoughtful, quiet, eldest son to read and write, to paint and to play the lute. As each additional son had been born and had swiftly grown into the kind of boy that would rather muck out the stables than be forced to read or write, she’d realized Aziraphale had been different. He didn’t chase after girls to pull their plaits like his brothers. He barely noticed girls at all. He only seemed to have eyes for the pages of books. 

  
His brothers were cruel to him, when they noticed him at all, though Aziraphale could hardly blame them. He knew he was a different species from his rowdy siblings. So when they spilled ice cold handfuls of melted snow down the back of his tunic, or when they put nettles in his bed clothes or called him unflattering names, he simply sighed and turned the other cheek. He knew that the more he reacted, the more satisfying it would be to taunt him, so he simply picked himself back up, dusted himself off, or picked nettles out of his bed sheets and returned to his artistic and literary pursuits.

They must have thought him a quiet person, having never stuck around long enough to engage him in conversation, but he had many a lengthy discussion with his mother about a wide array of subjects, ranging from which forest mushrooms would heal and which would kill and which were good in stew, to comparisons of western and northern poetry, to the best way to mend a tear in fabric. He chatted also with the town children, and the people at market, where he often went to buy new herbs for baking and cooking. His mother also taught him how to cook food and bake in the western style of her people, which involved lots of spices and seasoned oils and berries, while in the north, they relied more heavily on boiled root vegetables and large hunks of broiled meat.

Aziraphale had a weakness for food and for socializing, and so most days, he’d wander down into the village from the large manor house where he and his family lived. The people kept clear of his brothers, being that they were easily angered and liked to demand tithings at off times of the month to flex what small amount of power they had. But they adored Aziraphale and his mother. He would chat with the candle maker, the baker, the blacksmith and the ladies who came to market carrying eggs from their small chicken coops. He was a friendly soul, if soft spoken, and he’d gained a reputation for kindness and for being a good listener if anyone should have a serious concern about the land, or the weather or what to do if there were a longer than average spell without rain or snow. 

His mother also taught him the old magic of her people. But only when they were alone and only when his father was out on one of his campaigns with his brothers in tow. Magic was looked on as frivolous and lazy by the royal family. It was encouraged when used by priests and midwives and herbalists (though this was rare in the north), but not considered good form for princes, being that it was generally used for household chores and child birthing and animal husbandry. Not fit for royalty. But in the west, noble children were taught several helpful spells along with their letters and numbers. It was considered part of their inheritance. His mother could remove the wrinkles from linens with a swift flick of her fingers and the utterance of a special word. She could entice deer to come to her hand with a whispered spell, and she could encourage wicks to light themselves with a snap of her fingers. Simple, household spells, passed down from generation to generation and bound into a book that she kept in a secret compartment in her wardrobe, buried behind veils and gowns, hidden from the eyes of her suspicious husband and rowdy younger children. 

She showed Aziraphale this book, and taught him all the spells she could, and he, being the avid student he was, learned them all eagerly. His mother was adamant that this magic was his heritage and would be important to him in his life. That these spells were vital to him in some mysterious way that she would never quite elaborate on clearly. Most were cast by the simple recitation of a few words, but some involved the seeing of things in the mind, the summoning of specific sigils and images in the imagination, in combination with a sense of the earthly world around them. Aziraphale could imagine a hawk’s feather and reach a hand out to the soft movement of the wind as it blew by the window and by doing so, he could cause a swift breeze to come along and dry the clothing they had pinned to the line, out in the sun. He could imagine a new sapling sprouting from the ground and gently thrust his fingers into the soft earth of a garden and the new, green tendrils of sprouting vegetables, pea shoots and shallots, would poke their heads above ground and reach for the sun within minutes. 

He learned how to stoke a fire by simply imagining a glowing coal and snapping his fingers, and how to sooth a hen so that she would lay eggs with a few gentle words and a motion of his hand. He never used his small spells to fool or impress. On this, his mother made herself very very clear to him. “Never use my family’s magic for frivolous purposes” she’d warned him, many times. “For once it senses that it is misused, it will leave you and never return. It’s like that my son. It only comes to those whose motives are good and pure.” Aziraphale understood, and so he never used magic to trip his unruly brothers or to steal gold from the poor box or to sneak cookies from cook’s tray when she wasn’t looking. His brothers did all of these things without the benefit of magic spells, and were holy terrors. 

When Aziraphale came of age, he decided to become a priest. He’d always been delighted by the stories about the gods in the religious texts his mother read to him, and he certainly had no interest in becoming a soldier like his brothers and father had done. He set up residence in the small chapel attached to his family’s manor house, after apprenticing himself for several years to the old priest, Father Julius. He learned the recitation of religious rites and marriage ceremonies and how to speak words over the recently deceased to ensure their path to heaven’s gates. He abandoned his woolen tunics and velvet hose of a prince, for the white alb and ceremonial dalmatic of the priesthood, and, as was customary of religious leaders in the north, he swore to take no person to his bed. 

Northerners, unlike westerners, easterners or southerners felt strongly that communion with the gods was only possible through an individual who was virginal and sexually pure. To engage in pleasures of the flesh, to awaken those fires with another person was to place that person over the gods in importance and to cloud the mind with want and pleasure-hunger that would make communion with the kingdom’s many deities impossible. This was not a difficult thing to swear, as he found he had little interest in the charms of the village women. There were a few young men of the village that he  _ did _ fancy, but he kept those yearnings to himself, knowing that none of them returned his feelings and that male-male relationships were frowned upon in the north. Sexual congress was largely for the making of babies that would grow to strapping young adults, who would in turn help chop firewood, card wool, slaughter livestock and help the kingdom grow in the frozen reaches of the northern lands. 

Being the village priest allowed him plenty of time to move through the village, speaking with the people, helping them. He used his mother’s spells quietly, here and there to sooth colicky babies and encourage cows to give milk and to bless crops and gardens into fecundity. But above beyond those small works of magic, he was a kind man. A friendly, delightful man who listened intently to the problems of his people, and who was quick to laugh and quicker to smile. He swiftly grew beloved by the people, and was often sought out as the giver of advice and the solver of small disputes. There were many who took him aside to ask if one day he might be King of the manor, and to all of them he modestly replied that though he was the eldest, he had not, nor was ever likely to marry, and so his brothers were all in line before him for ascension to the title of king. Many a villager would frown at this news, which Aziraphale took to be quite flattering, as it meant that they wanted him to be their King, but the prospect of ruling brought him no pleasure. It meant dealing with affairs of state, and going out on military campaigns, and that would sorely impede the amount of time he had to read and write and help the townsfolk. 

His brothers continued their rough behavior, through adolescent years, into their twenties. They had ridden out with their father on short military skirmishes, with the small but dedicated regiment of soldiers that were reserved for the protection of the northern kingdom. There were often bandits from the south, trying to creep across their borders to poach wild game or terrorize local villages. The northerners had good relations with the seafaring people of the east, and with the mountain people of the west, (largely through the marriage of Aziraphale’s parents) but the south, with it’s exotic fruit trees and wild tigers and tropical storms, the south was a constant vexation. The King of that land was rumored to be a black hearted thief and a cheat. A murderer and a liar, who had, a decade or so prior, been accused of black magic. No one had ever seen this dark southern king, for he kept the walls of his castle heavily fortified, and turned away visiting dignitaries and strangers. 

________________________________________________

Eventually, Aziraphale’s brothers each married and had several children.. A passel of boisterous boys and girls that ran through the manor house like a small herd of noisy cattle. Aziraphale loved the children. Some of them took to him as well, and (as was part of his duty as the manor priest), he set up a small school, dedicated to teaching them reading, writing and the stories of the holy text he lived by. Some of the children, who like their fathers, had no love of reading, abstained from coming to class, but a large number (there were 13 in all), did attend, and delighted in his teachings. He also insisted in teaching his nieces, alongside his nephews, something that those in the northern lands (an old fashioned lot) were not fond of doing.

Eventually, his parents both passed away into the arms of the gods. His father from a sword wound during a particularly rough skirmish on their southern border. His mother lived on for several years after her husband, wearing customary widow’s black, until she too succumbed to a lung infection brought on by the frigid air of the northern winters. Aziraphale sat by her bed and prayed, holding her hands in his own and crying bitter tears of grief and regret. She was the only adult person in the family who truly understood him, and he didn’t want to imagine life without her. There were no magic spells in her books or in her memory that would mend human flesh or banish a fever. It seemed that magic could not be used to make a person immortal, much to Aziraphale’s grief and regret. 

The years passed by, and the eldest of the three remaining brothers, Gabriel, was crowned as the new king. He and his brothers and their wives and children went about the daily work of upholding the large manor house. The wives organized the operations of the kitchen and of the washing. The brothers supervised the field servants who brought in the harvest and organized the monthly tithing from the villagers. They were a bit too stringent with the collecting of tithes, but not unduly cruel. And the people loved Aziraphale, and so they gave what they could to his pompous, loud brothers come tithing day each month. Usually in the form of hens eggs, lambs and piglets, or a brace of hares. Sometimes the women gave bolts of homespun wool, which the brother’s wives and their serving girls made into coats and blankets. 

After the death of father Julius, some years after the death of his mother, Aziraphale was the only one in his family to go out into the marketplace and speak to the people every day. And this was how he learned of the great southern dragon. The tales had been spreading for decades about the southern kingdom and it’s mad king. A man who had been rumored to have killed his only son for refusing to marry. A man who kept company with a dark mage, who had turned his courtiers into snakes. There were many rumors. Some of them clearly the product of wild imagination. But as the years went by, the tales of the dragon, the great worm of the south, stayed consistent. Visiting nobles and knights would tell of seeing glimpses of the great beast in the lush, dark forests of the south. They told of it breathing fire. Of it being as large as a manor house, with glowing eyes and long, sharp teeth. The rumors eventually wove their way into a sort of folklore for those in the north. A tale to use to scare unruly children into behaving. A topic of conversation around the dinner table, along with talk about crops and illnesses and who was in the family way. 

In the years after the death of the old northern king and queen, the rumors grew more persistent. Apparently, the dragon had caused great, billowing clouds of dark smoke hang over the lands and the crops were refusing to grow. Those in the north heard tell that the mad king had died and that his dark mage had taken over the kingdom. That the people were in peril. King Gabriel sent a regiment of soldiers south to investigate, and, having ridden three days or so into the southern territories, they returned to confirm the tales that people told. They said, that while the skies were not, as the rumors stated, shrouded completely, that it was rather dim and cloudy in the southern lands they’d traveled through, and that while the crops were not all dying, they were small and stunted looking for such a warm and wet place. They had tried to find the dragon and had found, led by the smell of sulfur, a large cave, surrounded by the bones of animals and stinking of brimstone, but no great beast had been in residence. Perhaps the dragon had died? 

The king certainly had passed on, this they’d gleaned from the townspeople in the villages they passed through, and the mage (who wasn’t a mage at all, but rather the king’s brother, a severe southern priest with a cruel twist to his mouth) was now the standing ruler until a new king could be crowned. The king had had only one heir, a son, whom he’d banished for refusing to wed or take the throne after his father. No one knew where this son had gone. The palace was several days travel further south, and so the soldiers, without the supplies for a more extended trip, had returned to tell what they’d gleaned on their mission. There were still many missing pieces of the story. Why were there rumors of a dark magician when only a priest was in residence in the castle? Where was this great dragon that scorched the skies with fiery breath? Where had the forsaken son gone?

Predictably, Gabriel, Uriel and Michael decided that it was time to head south to investigate. They brought this up at dinner time in the great hall, where it was customary for the family to gather to eat together each night. 

“The way I see it” started Uriel, a chicken leg clutched in his one meaty fist, a wine cup in the other, “The southern kingdom is ripe for the picking. Their government is in shambles, their crops are piss poor. All we’d have to do is kill this dragon, chop the head off this priest fellow and take the kingdom in the name of the north” He paused to take a large bite of the chicken leg, strings of meat and sinew disappearing into his mouth with a muffled squishing noise. He washed the bite down with a large swig of wine. His wife Mina, a buxom redheaded woman with dark eyes sniffed disapprovingly at his atrocious table manners, but kept quiet. She had five children to tend to, three of which had started throwing peas at each other. 

“It’s a more delicate situation that that brother” remarked Gabriel, swiping at his mouth with a homespun napkin. “They still have a standing army that outweighs ours by several hundred men. And the dragon is rumored to be as big as a house and fierce to boot. This will take more finess than just brute force”. 

Gabriel’s wife, queen of House Fell, Shara, a thin, pale, dark haired woman spoke up in a reedy voice “I don’t see why we need to bother with them at all” she remarked, a grape poised at her lips “Why not leave them to their destruction and then simply walk in and take what’s left when their kingdom dissolves?”

“Well dearest.. That might work” Gabriel intoned “but there’s a large chance this priest isn’t as ineffectual as he sounds. He might have some military acumen.. He might just have the wherewithal to organize the kingdom to protect itself. Perhaps even now, he is sending men to dispatch the dragon himself. It’s only a wonder he hasn’t done so sooner.” He turned his attention to his other two brothers, ignoring Aziraphale, who sat further down the table and who was helping keep the children entertained with simple slight of hand tricks. “I say, we head down there with a sturdy regiment and destroy the creature, then bring it’s head to the priest as proof that we’ve handled their little problem. Perhaps he’ll allow one of the court ladies to wed our Jasper” here he nodded his head at his eldest son, now sixteen, who looked back with an expression of horror on his face at the prospect of marriage “and we can unite our kingdoms and finally establish trade routs.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but agree with his brother. Which was rare. If this dragon were such a fearful threat to the safety of the southern kingdom, then dispatching it would be cause for celebration, and if Jasper were to marry a southern Lady… he was certainly the eldest child of the 13, and therefor the first in line to wed… that might go a long way to establishing positive relations with the south. Something that would have been unheard of when Aziraphale was a child. But still… the dragon was a living creature, and Aziraphale was not in favor of harming any living creature if he could help it. Despite the fact that he received endless mockery from his siblings, he didn’t eat meat and didn’t hunt. They’d called him a “coward” and a “fop” and a “spineless moo cow” when he had been a child, and now that he was a grown man of middling years and the priest of the manor, they simply said it behind his back. 

But the poor dragon. Had it killed anyone? Killed anything, besides the animals whose bones were scattered outside it’s lair? It was simply existing, was it not? Aziraphale had a way with animals. He could charm birds and small woodland creatures to come quite close to him and to take seeds and berries from his outstretched hands. He could soothe the cows in the pasture who had gone dry so that they gave milk again. He always insisted on brushing down his own horse (Thimble) and spent a good deal of time stroking his velvety nose and whispering kind words into his ears after a ride in the country. He was thoughtful and gentle and animals and children adored him. He didn’t expect his brothers to understand this. They adored the manor dogs and spoiled them with treats and pats, but they terrorized the barn cats for fun and saw all other creatures of the kingdom as either food or vermin. They hunted extensively and enjoyed the panicked scrambling of the foxes that ran from their baying dogs and they loved to shoot at deer and boar with their arrows, following their trails of blood into the forest to finish off the poor creatures by hand with knives. Aziraphale knew that most people in the kingdom ate meat, and he didn’t begrudge them. His brothers however, seemed to enjoy killing just as much as eating, and this bothered him. 

He kept his thoughts to himself however, not wanting to start a row at dinner. He focused instead on teaching Katherine, Uriel’s seven year old, how to pull a coin from her brother Ivan’s ear. The little girl practiced the flick of the wrist her uncle taught her, but dropped the coin to the ground. She squealed in laughter and bent to pick it up and start over again. Ivan waited patiently for her to try again, while chewing on a mouthful of stewed carrot. 

Back at the head of the table, plans progressed to form a phalanx of men to head south and hunt the dragon. Much laughing and boasting had commenced and Aziraphale sighed inwardly. His brothers did love to hunt, and the great beast of the south certainly sounded like the prey of a lifetime. If it were indeed as large and as fearsome as the tales said. He turned his attention back to Katherine and showed her a fourth time the correct way to hold the coin in her palm so as to make her hand appear empty. She struggled to comply, the small coin unwieldy in her child’s fist. Aziraphale smiled at her tenacity. 

_____________________________________________

A month later, once plans to journey south had been completed and the brothers were gathered in the courtyard with ten of their best soldiers, their packs and their dogs. They each wore chainmail coifs under bucket helms, chainmail vests and thick  chausses to protect their shins. Over their mail they wore red and gold tunics emblazoned with the image of the northern lion, the family crest of the north kingdom, and they virtually bristled with spears. In addition, each of his brothers wore a broadsword and had a bow slung onto the back of their horses. Armed to the teeth and with more than enough supplies for the three day’s journey to the southern kingdom, they prepared to embark. Their wives, weeping and clutching each other in anguish, could barely be pulled apart to grant their husbands goodbye kisses. They must have feared that there was a possibility that their husbands, Aziraphale’s brothers would not return home, for rumors abounded that the dragon was fierce indeed. 

Aziraphale stood with his sisters in law and the crowd of his nieces and nephews, several of whom clung to his hands and gripped at the folds of his alb, while they all watched the party recede into the distance and disappear over the crest of a hill. His brothers leaving on a military mission was not new to the family. They did so often, but their trips were often simple border skirmishes with southern bandits, and they, being accomplished swordsmen and good with the bow, were rarely in any real danger. The southern army had never come north to challenge them, their people seeming content to farm their lands and keep to themselves. This was the first time in recorded history that an actual military campaign had been launched deep into the lands of the south. No attempts had been made to communicate with the southern king or his mysterious priest. Lines of communication between the two kingdoms were minimal, and consisted of sending a letter by horse for several days, with no guarantee of a response. Apparently, this southern priest was not communicative with the people in the northern reaches of his land, the ones that had spoken to Gabriel’s soldiers, about his plans, nor what had happened to the kingdom in the wake of the king’s death. 

Aziraphale was unsure how wise it was for his brothers to ride south and attempt to dispatch the dragon without speaking officially to this priest. It was very like them though, he had to admit. To resort to violence and rash action without planning ahead. The assumption that the priest would be grateful when they slayed the beast, and that this would help form an alliance with the southern kingdom was a large one, with many factors left unconsidered. And what of the rumors of the dark mage? The black magic being cast by the deceased king? Was this priest involved? Aziraphale still did not speak up about his concerns. His brothers wouldn’t listen in any case. They tolerated him because it was tradition to treat the manor priest with respect, and because he did an excellent job of keeping a large number of their combined children occupied. 

Their wives were polite enough to Aziraphale, but not exactly warm. They did not understand him and had no interest in books or music. Northern ladies were mostly concerned with the running of their households and in keeping the fires burning and food on the table. It was a harsh existence in the frozen north, where even in the warmer months the air barely crept up above freezing. Noble women of the north oversaw the running of the kitchens, the raising of children, the making of warm new coats and blankets. They darned socks and knitted their children caps by the evening fires and did the hard work of supervising the staff of cooks, housekeepers and lady’s maids of the manor house. They didn’t spend much time reading, and to be fair, many of them had never been taught to read or write. 

That evening, Aziraphale, like he was wont to do several times a week, went down into the village to visit with the townsfolk. He had made fast friends with several families, including young Anathema, the midwife and her husband Newt, the town blacksmith. They had a new baby, little Abigail, and they always welcomed the manor priest in with a cup of warm cider and offered him a seat by the fire, where he’d bounce the baby on his knee and listen to their tales of how the townsfolk were doing. Who had broken a leg. Who had married off a son to whose daughter. Who had grown ill and who had passed on. Aziraphale visited and consoled as many of the ill as he could, and said rites over as many deathbeds as possible, but the town had grown since he was a young man, and so he could hardly hope to keep track of everyone’s needs. He relied on friends like Anathema and Newt, and other families he was close to to keep him up to date on the state of the townsfolk and what their needs might be. 

“Traveling south..? To slay the great worm?” Anathema’s pretty brow crinkled upon hearing Aziraphale recount the tale of how his brothers and their men had embarked this morning on their military campaign to the south. She sat near Aziraphale, next to her husband, one hand clasped in his, the other wrapped around a mug of cider as she stared at him in disbelief. “But..I’ve heard the thing is as big as a house and as fierce as a lion! I certainly hope they succeed, and that no one is harmed”.

“Yes.” sighed Aziraphale. “I hope my brothers’ rash decision making won’t get any of them killed, if at least for the sake of their wives and children” after years of casual disrespect from his brothers while watching them routinely take their lives into their own hands, sometimes for the simple motivation of a bet, he couldn’t summon up much anguish over the thought of the dragon swallowing one of them whole. He’d never felt loved by them, nor any real love for them. It would only pain him to know that their children would miss them.

“Well,” remarked Newt in a rueful voice “if they  _ are _ all gobbled up, then you’ll be our king, and the people will truly be happy”. 

“Newt!” Anathema’s shocked tone at her husband’s words was betrayed somewhat by the small smile she was unsuccessful in hiding as she playfully slapped him on the am. “What a thing to say!”

“I’m deeply flattered by your words Newt, but being king wouldn’t suit me. My brothers do a good enough job of it, and besides, were I to take on the affairs of state, I’d be unable to spend so much time here in the village” he smiled warmly at his friends while little Abigail gurgled and cooed in his arms. 

“Will you please perform Abigail’s naming ceremony Aziraphale?” Anathema asked. In the north, children were named at birth, but then were officially named by the town priest or the grandparents of the family (Newt’s and Anathema’s were both deceased), when the child was six months old. 

“Of course. I’d love to” replied Aziraphale, grinning at the small, plump baby in his lap, who looked up at him with large, damp eyes, her barely visible brows crinkled in concentration as she stared at his face. “What will her full name be?”

“Abigail Opal Pulsifer” replied Newt

“Oh, that’s just lovely” said Aziraphale with a broad smile. Northern people often included gem stones in their children’s names. It was considered lucky and apt to increase the chances that they’d find wealth and success in their lives. 

After an hour or so more of pleasant conversation, he bundled up in his cloak and headed back to his small rooms above the chapel. It was a temperate night, chilly but not brutally cold, and Aziraphale looked up wistfully at the blanket of stars that sparkled above him in the black sky. He said a small prayer for the safe return of his brothers and tried to imbue it with the maximum amount of compassion and sincerity that he could. They were oafish men certainly, but none of them deserved to be ripped apart by an angry dragon. 

____________________________

The war party was gone for a week. It was, if Aziraphale were perfectly honest, a calm and enjoyable week. He felt bad for his sisters in law, who wept openly at dinner and seemed more pale and drawn than usual at the prospect of being left widowed. Aziraphale did his best to be reassuring, with warm pats on the arm and offers to say blessings for the brothers safe return, but they were inconsolable. Even so, they were hearty northern women, and despite their worry, they still accomplished the multiple and arduous tasks of keeping a large manor house running smoothly. Aziraphale helped with suggestions of which herbs the cook should put into the rabbit stew, and in bargaining with the town soap maker to get a good price for lye to help with the washing of the manor’s many piles of laundry. He also kept the children busy with games and sermons and classes on reading and writing and arithmetic, so as to help ease the minds of their worried mothers. 

Each night, he knelt at the altar of Sabetta, the goddess of good travels and said a prayer for his brothers’ safe journey home. He then knelt by the altar of Thrumous, god of war and said a prayer that they would be strong in battle, and lastly, he knelt by the altar of the goddess Liyurna, goddess of wild things and prayed that if they did kill the dragon, that it’s death be swift. The northern kingdom had many gods, all of whose names and powers Aziraphale knew well. Gods and goddesses of harvest and rain and fertility and strength. The small temple walls were lined with little altars, and at each altar, different prayers and different offerings were to be made to appease each god. Aziraphale could feel the power of the old gods, stirring in the darkness above their altars, but it was a rare thing indeed for any priest to be spoken to directly by a god. Tales were told of priests from long ago who spoke regularly with gods as if speaking to another mortal, but they were old, old tales. 

Still, Aziraphale could tell when his wishes had been heard. He could feel a certain spark in his mind that told him the god was there, awake and watching, listening from the astral plane. Only time would tell if his prayers would be answered. He rarely prayed for anything specific. Only for good crops, milder winters, safety and prosperity for his people. And for the most part, the kingdom did flourish. For as small and as frigid as the northern lands were, they were relatively peaceful and prosperous. His mother used to say in jest that it was simply too cold for strife. No one wanted to fight because they were too busy keeping warm. She postulated that this was why there was so much trouble in the southern kingdom. That it was warm and people had too much free time on their hands. Aziraphale, having heard so many rumors of the dark wild mischief bubbling up from the southern lands had to agree. 

____________________________

It was early on the morning of the seventh day since the king’s party had set out that the watchmen on the manor gates cried that they could see people approaching from the south. The royal family (the wives, Aziraphale and several servants and children) rushed to the gates to see who approached. It was in fact the king and his war party, but they were smaller and far more bedragled than before. Of the eighteen men who had embarked for the southern kingdom a week ago, only seven returned. The wives looked anxiously as the limping, soot covered company approached the gates, trying to determine if their husbands were among the survivors. Soon they could see the king, Gabriel at the head of the party, his helmet under his arm, sagging on his horse as if exhausted. Then Michael, walking beside his horse, and across the saddle, the limp figure of a man was draped, legs and arms swaying lifelessly with the movement of the horse’s walk. 

The three wives broke away from the gate and rushed to the party of men to discover that Uriel was the man slung across the horse’s back. Uriel’s wife was in a panic, crying and pulling at his clothes. She was reassured that he still lived, but that he’d taken grievous injury in the battle with the dragon. That he had a long tear down his shoulder and that they needed medical attention for him immediately. 

The small party made their way through the manor gates and into the courtyard. Aziraphale rushed to the horse’s side to help get his wounded brother’s unconscious body down. “Bring him to the chapel” he said “I have a cot set up there and I can clean his wound and make him comfortable while we get the medic.” The brothers, perhaps too traumatized and exhausted to argue like they normally would, silently agreed and helped to carry the unconscious and bloody Uriel to the chapel. Aziraphale sent an older child off to the physic’s hut and told her to hurry. Then he sent another child to boil some water in the small kitchen at the back of the chapel while he went about cutting away his brother’s blood soaked shirt with a knife. The wound was severe, and Aziraphale fought down nausea at the site of the angry, red gash in a long stripe that ran from the top of his brother’s shoulder to his hip… it looked as if Uriel had been ripped at by a giant claw. 

When Michael’s son returned with a large pot of hot water, Azirpahle dipped a linen cloth into it and set about gently cleaning his brother’s wound, meanwhile, he prayed to Asatrah, the god of healing and Thrumous, god of war for his brother’s safe healing. He also cast a few small spells help stoke the chapel fire so that Uriel would stay warm. His brother lay, pale and seemingly lifeless, and if it weren’t for the very shallow and gentle rise and fall of his chest that betrayed that he still breathed, Aziraphale would have thought he had already passed on. Azirphale hoped that he would live. His poor wife was so distraught and he had five children to support. He continued praying as he cleaned away the blood and dirt from the wound as best he could.

  
  


When the physic arrived, half an hour altar, Aziraphale quickly stepped back and let him do his work. He washed his hands free of blood and went to care for the children, those who were not gathered around their fathers and mothers. The sun had risen to its zenith in the sky, and so he ordered cook to please set out a midday meal and for the baths to be prepared for his brothers. He was beyond curious to hear what had happened on the trip, but also full of sadness that men had been lost. It seemed that three men had fallen. Soldiers who died in battle with the great beast had likely had a mother, a wife, children, brothers and sisters who would now grieve over their loss in battle. He made a mental note to find out their names and to forgive them their tithings for the next year or so to help them get by with the loss they’d suffered. He doubted his brothers would have thought of these things, being single minded and insensitive as they were. At times Aziraphale snuck in and made arrangements for things his brothers overlooked, and the funeral arrangements and forgiveness of the tithings fell into this realm. 

Hours later, the physic exited the chapel, blood all down his front and his hands stained red. He took Aziraphale aside before he would even wash himself off and told him that only time would tell if his brother Uriel would live. The man had lost a lot of blood. He was strong, and so he could rally and live, or if he took a bad turn he could just as easily die of his wounds. He estimated that they would know the outcome soon enough. If Uriel lived through the night tonight, then it was likely that he’d survive. He’d stitched up the man’s long, vicious wound and had applied poultices of linseed and mustard seed to keep infection from taking hold. Now all they could do was wait and pray. 

And pray Aziraphale did. He knelt by the altars of several gods and prayed fervently for the next several hours for the deliverance of his brother from the claws of death. Uriel had never been kind to him, but he wasn’t a bad man at heart. Simply selfish and brutish and unimaginative. Aziraphale did not want him to die. 

After his prayers, he wandered into the kitchen to fetch a plate of food that cook had kept aside for him and sat alone in the great hall to eat. Uriel’s daughter, Sarana came in and sat next to him, looking pale and confused, and he put a warm arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “How are you my poppet?” he asked. She was a thoughtful, inquisitive child, and one of the thirteen that had taken a special shine to Aziraphale. 

  
“Will papa live uncle Ziraphale?” she asked in a small voice. Aziraphale knew it was unwise to lie to a child

  
“I don’t know dear” he replied, stroking her hair as she gazed up at him. “I can’t say yet. He is very badly wounded, but if we pray and wait, we shall find out soon enough”. 

“If he dies…” the little girl seemed suddenly shy “would you be my father then?”

Azirpahale felt his heart lurch with pained love at her simple, devastating question. “No dearest. I’ll still be your uncle Ziraphale. But I will love you very much and I’ll help you with whatever you need in life from now on… yes?” he asked, pushing strands of her dark hair away from her pale face and looking earnestly into her brown eyes. 

“Yes uncle” she replied, and burrowed into his side, wrapped her arms around his thick waist, and buried her face against his chest. He returned the embrace and sighed, sending up yet another prayer for his brother’s return to life and to health. 

______________________

Perhaps his prayers were listened to, because Uriel did live through the night, and the next day, his color had improved a little bit, though he still lay unconscious on the cot in the chapel. They dared not move him, for fear it would open his wound, and so Aziraphale kept watch over him, changed his poultices every few hours, mopped his brow with a cool, damp cloth and made sure he was bundled well in blankets. It was strange for him to care for his brother this way. The last time he’d seen Uriel this still and this helpless, he had been an infant. 

The physic came back by mid morning to examine the patient and pronounce that he had a fighting chance at life. Aziraphale was happy. He sent up thanks to the various gods involved in battle and the safe return of soldiers and went about his day with renewed hope that Uriel’s wife and family would not have to suffer with his loss. 

At noon, he was called to the great hall to meet with Gabriel and Michael. This was unusual, but not unheard of. They kept him informed of major goings on in the the household of Manor Fell and the kingdom, being that he was an integral part of manor life and village government. He’d wanted very much to hear of their trip, a trip that had clearly ended badly, and so he hurried to the great hall where Gabriel, Michael and their advisors were gathered at one end of the large table where the family took their meals. 

“Brother” Gabriel greeted him in a stern voice. “How fairs Uriel? The physic told us he had a chance at life, is that so?”

  
“Yes” Aziraphale nodded gravely. “He told me that he could yet live, but we must be vigilant in changing the dressings on his wounds and in keeping him warm. I’ll work tirelessly to do so until he is out of the woods” He saw his brother nod at the news, and saw a flicker of something resembling gratitude cross his stern, handsome face. 

“Good.” Was his simple reply. Gabriel was never one for effusive praise. But Aziraphale didn’t expect any from his brothers, being that he’d so rarely ever received it before. He did the kind things he did because he cared for people, not to win their approval. 

“Tell me brother” Aziraphale broached the subject gently “about your campaign… about this great worm of the south. What transpired?”

Gabriel let out a sigh and scrubbed his hand through his short shorn hair. His eyes were tired, the lines around them and the dark circles under them visible, even in the relatively low light of the torches in the hall. “We traveled south for three days. The weather grew warmer as we went, but the skies grew cloudier and darker as well. The crops we traveled past were indeed in a sorry state, and the villagers we spoke with all said that this southern priest, ‘priest Hastur’ they called him, was a madman. That he refused to hear the pleas of the people in the wake of the king’s death. That he would enact cruel punishments on those who dared to challenge him. They said that since the king’s only son was banished, and the queen was dead some years ago of a mysterious illness, there was no one left to oppose him.” He took a long sip of watered wine from his goblet and continued. 

“We decided to march onward to try and dispatch the dragon in any case. One less southern menace to worry about. On the third day, we encountered the lair of the beast. It was just as the last search party said.. A large cave in the side of a great, rocky hill. The entrance was dark with shadows and there were animal bones strewn about on the rocks before the cave. We could see no sign of the beast, and not wanting to risk encountering it inside it’s cave, we set up camp a few hundred yards away in a small copse of trees. It was not until nightfall on the third day that we heard movement inside the cave.” Here he stopped momentarily, seeming to balk at the memory of what had transpired. Michael put a hand to his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him and urge him onward with his tale. 

“The dragon crept out of the cave once darkness had fallen. At first we could not see the true size nor scope of it as it was black as night with no moon. But then, one of the men shot a flaming arrow into the upper branches of a nearby tree to provide us with light, and we could see it.” His face grew grimmer and his eyes grew stealy with anger at the memory.    
  


“It was a great, black snake, truly the size of a large cottage, with a long scaly neck and a great head, the size of a horse. It had four small legs with sharp claws and it’s mouth held long fangs and it’s eyes… it’s eyes glowed yellow in the torchlight. At first it did nothing, just regarded us with those gods forsaken eyes, but then… when we hit it with a volley of arrows, it reared up and breathed fire down upon us.”

Aziraphale felt fear coil inside his belly at the description of the evil beast. He clutched his hands together nervously as Gabriel continued speaking. 

“The fire consumed three of my men immediately. They could barely scream before… before.. “ he paused, breathing deeply for a moment “before the flames destroyed them.” The beast tried to turn away then, but we wanted to finish it, and so I sent more men towards it, around its flanks to try and avoid its great flaming maw. Gareth and Boyden managed to get in good shots, and I believe Darneth stabbed at the thing with his sword, for I heard it scream in pain… a sound that will haunt my dreams for many a night let me tell you brother”. He looked at Aziraphale with eyes full of shadows and Aziraphale felt the glance like a blow. “We fought valiantly and well” Gabriel continued “I myself managed to slash at one of the creatures arms and may have caused it some injury, before I lept away again out of the reach of it’s flaming breath. But when all was said and done, we lost three men. And Uriel… he wanted to try to stab the creature in its soft, red underbelly.. Only the beast was too fast, and it swiped at him, causing the wound that has now brought him low.” Gabriel let out another sigh and took another long swig of his wine. “The beast eventually crawled away, back to its cave. We could not destroy it, but hopefully, it will die of its wounds. We had to rush back with all due haste to save Uriel’s life, but perhaps, if we lead another party of men south with us we could finish it off”

“But…” Aziraphale interjected carefully “the loss of those three men.. Surely it is not worth it to risk more lives to try and dispatch such a fearsome creature.” 

“Perhaps I am mistaken” Gabriel snapped, his eyes going fiery “Or did you become a military strategist while we were away?”

“No brother” Aziraphale relented, realizing he’d stepped onto shaky ground with Gabriel “Only.. I thought”

“It is not your  _ duty _ to provide us with your opinion on military maneuvers brother.” Gabriel spat out angrily. 

Michael stepped towards Aziraphale, a grim look on his face..”Yes Airaphale. We don’t take advice on hunting and warfare from a soft, woman-hearted priest. Keep your bookish nose out of the business of soldiers and make certain that Uriel recovers” 

Aziraphale knew he’d overstepped. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but this seemed an opportune time to press an important point “Very well brothers, very well” he continued, casting his eyes downwards in a show of submission and deferrance. “I will assume though that you’ll be forgiving the families of the lost men their tithings for the next year or so.. In order to help them with the cost of their funerals and the loss of the income from their work?”

Both brothers looked taken aback at his words. They knew Aziraphale’s request was fair minded, and on the heels of such a tragic story of these men’s untimely death, they could hardly refuse. “Very well. Yes. Let them abstain from the tithings then” Gabriel mumbled. “Now leave us! Go back to your prayers and your teaching of children, and let the  _ men- _ ” (this said with a sneer, as if to imply that Aziraphale was not to be counted among their number) “-finish talking”. 

Aziraphale nodded and left the hall. He didn’t mind the comments his brothers made. He’d grown used to them over the years. He was happy that they’d allowed for the widows of the fallen soldiers to refrain from giving of their precious resources for the next twelve months, and so he counted the evening as a great victory. He hurried back to the chapel to check on Uriel, finding him unchanged. Aziraphale set a chapel servant to watch his brother and went to market to purchase some eggs and bread and some new berries he’d seen for sale the day before. He didn’t have to buy things from the villagers. As brother to the king, he was owed anything he wished. His brothers often ate at the taverns for free, and drank ale well into the night, relying on their status to avoid paying. But Aziraphale always gave the people money for their wares. At first, they’d balked at this, pushing loves of bread into his hands and refusing the coins he tried to give them, but eventually, they relented and accepted payment. They weren’t wealthy, and while the northern kingdom was fairly prosperous, winters were hard, and they could use the coins to purchase new blankets and leggings and coats, or new wagon wheels for their carts. 

  
  


Soon, the sun began to set, and not wanting to leave his fallen brother alone for too long, Aziraphale returned to the chapel. He fetched a thick quilt from his bedroom, and wrapping himself up in it, he sat in the front row of the pews of the chapel , near the flickering fire from the chapel hearth and settled himself in for a long night of watching Uriel’s unconscious body. He brought with him a book to read, about herb lore and the spells associated with healing through the use of organic tinctures. He hoped that something in the book would allow him to assist the physic with the further treating of Uriel’s wounds. 

It had been a long and emotional day, and though Aziraphale had no intention of falling asleep, he must have dozed off, for he found himself having a very strange dream. 

He dreamed that he sat in the chapel, but instead of Uriel’s body on a cot, there lay the body of the great dragon. It was massive and covered in black scales, coiled in on itself and taking up every inch of room in the open space between the pews and the front set of altars. Its eyes were closed and it’s great angular head was resting against the side of the altar of Liyurna, goddess of wild things. It was breathing gently, it’s massive back and sides rising and falling under gleaming black scales, the sound of its breath like the soft crash of ocean waves across the sand. Aziraphale should have been afraid, but strangely, in the way of dreams, he was not. He simply sat in his place in the front pew, his feet mere centimeters from one of the beast’s clawed feet.

There was a soft glowing light coming from the goddesses altar, and then She was there. Standing next to the sleeping dragon. Her long, pale tresses spilling down her back in wild tumbles. Her green gown, festooned with leaves and flowers, just as She was portrayed in the religious texts Aziraphale had seen since he was a small child. He only had a short moment to wonder at Her beauty and to realize that he’d never dreamed of seeing any gods before, when She turned her hazel eyes to him and spoke.    
  


“Beloved Aziraphale” She intoned, in a voice that vibrated with the music of a rushing stream. “Do you see this sleeping beast before you?” her voice was the wind rustling through the leaves. It was the sound of the stars twinkling in the night sky.. The sound of birds singing sweet music in the branches of trees in springtime. Aziraphale heard it inside his head, though he saw her lips moving in the dream. 

“Yes of course my Goddess” he replied, bowing low in his seat. “It is rather difficult to miss”

The goddess smiled briefly and then her face turned somber “It is wounded gravely” she continued. “It may not live for very much longer”

Unaccountably, this made Aziraphale feel sad. Even though he’d just a few hours prior heard tale of the terrible violence enacted by the dragon, he still hated to see any living creature in pain. “Yes..” he said, his voice inside the dream soft and reverent “Yes, my brothers have wounded it.”

“You must go to it” the goddess said, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d misheard her. Though this seemed unlikely. 

“What was that Goddess?” he asked incredulously “Go… go to the beast? But whatever for?”

“Why, to heal if of course” she replied, a patient and indulgent look stealing over her lovely face. 

“But… but.. Why would I do that?” he asked. “It killed three of our men, and it wounded my brother Uriel unto death’s door. Should we not simply wait for it to die?”

“No dear Aziraphale. It must live” She answered him, and turned her gaze to the massive, sleeping beast. Just then Aziraphale noticed the great pool of dark blood that surrounded the thing where it lay. Blood from its wounds. He looked down at his feet and saw the dark blood pooling around his simple cloth shoes, soaking into the woolen fabric. He felt no revulsion or surprise over this. Only sadness and pity for the poor creature. 

“It must live” the goddess repeated. “And you must go to it”

Not one to refuse the request of a diety, Aziraphale nodded. “Very well then my Goddess” he replied. “When shall I go?”

“At once” she replied. “And you must tell no one”

“But…” Aziraphale’s dreaming mind came up with several reasons why this would be irrational. His brother needed looking after.. The children would not know where he had gone. What if the dragon killed him and he was never to return?

“You must go to it” She repeated, and gifted him with a sad and lovely smile. And then, in a flash of light she was gone, and so was the sleeping, wounded form of the dragon. Aziraphale woke with a start. 

Had he just spoken to a Goddess? Had this been a dream? A particularly vivid imagining brought on by his brother’s tale? It had certainly felt very real. He looked around him, at Uriel’s still sleeping form, at the darkened main room of the manor chapel. Nothing had changed. He stood and wandered over to the altar of Liyurna and was surprised to see something glimmering among the ivy leaves and flowering branches that he brought in daily to adorn her altar. Something red gleamed among the green leaves, and he reached down to grasp it. As his fingers closed on the object, he realized that it was a ring. A rather large gold ring, set with an enormous ruby. The crimson stone sparkled in the torchlight of the chapel, and the gold band gleamed dully in the palm of his hand. Had a supplicant brought this ring as a gift to the Goddess during a recent ceremony? But even as he thought this, he realized it was not true. He’d cleaned and ordered the altars since the last time there had been church services, and had seen nothing out of the ordinary. And that had been two days ago now. The ring had appeared out of nowhere it seemed. 

He slowly slipped it onto his finger, and was surprised to find that it fit perfectly. He held out his hand and the ring sparkled and gleamed with a deep red light that seemed to come from within it.  _ How strange _ he thought  _ how beautiful _ . He had a moment’s doubt where he thought that perhaps this ring were not meant for him, that he was stealing from some poor parishioner, or from the goddess herself, but the thought quickly faded. The ring fit perfectly onto the middle finger of his right hand. As if it had been sized especially for him. It felt right, it’s weight and feel around his finger. It  _ must  _ have been meant for him. 

And what of the dream? Liyurna had told him to go to the beast. Go to the great southern dragon. Why? To heal it? This seemed very strange, being that the creature had now proved itself to be violent and murderous and evil. It hadn’t seemed evil though in the dream. It had seemed gentle and wounded and exhausted. He could still remember the creature’s angular, black scaled head, its large nostrils flaring with it’s slow, labored breath as it had lain on the floor of the chapel, eyes closed and sides heaving. And the blood. The pool of dark red blood spreading beneath it. It had seemed helpless and close to death. 

And he must go to it. This much was clear from what the goddess had told him in the dream. And he must tell no one about it. Aziraphale stepped over to check on his sleeping brother and found his cheeks pinked and his breathing regular. He seemed to be on the mend. But he couldn’t just leave him there could he? Aziraphale rushed up to his small rooms above the chapel to prepare for his trip. What else could he do? He had been summoned by a goddess. He knew that the dream had been a real message from Liyurna. Knew it in his bones. He’d never dreamed of this before, and never had he had such a clear and vivid dream as this one. He gathered some extra clothing, a few hunks of cheese, a few small loaves of bread and some of the sour-sweet northern apples he’d harvested from the manor orchards the other day into a bag and clothed himself warmly in plain hose and a plain tunic. He also gathered a bag of his healing herbs and a flask of water.

Before he headed to the stables though, he made sure to wake one of the chapel servants and ask them to keep watch over his brother and to get the physic once dawn broke. The man asked where he was going, and he simply told him “on an urgent errand.” which seemed to satisfy the servant, who obediently stood guard over Uriel. 

Aziraphale left them and hurried to the stables, still wondering at the fact that he was actually considering riding south to meet with a fearsome dragon, based solely on the evidence of a strange dream and a found ring. His horse, Thimble greeted him with soft wicker and a nudge of his velvety nose and Aziraphale took a minute or two to brush him and whisper greetings into his ear and to feed him two of his small apples before putting on his saddle and bridle. 

“We’re going on a journey dear heart” he murmured, as Thimble regarded him quizzically with a large brown eye. He was not used to being ridden in the early morning hours. Aziraphale mounted up and rode quietly out through the manor gates in the chilly morning darkness. It was several hours before dawn, and the village people were largely asleep. Of this he was glad, being that anyone who saw him would question where he was going at this hour, and he hated lying or being evasive. Soon though, he was away from the village and onto the road that lead south. 

_ What in the gods’ names am I doing? _ He asked himself incredulously as the dark scenery of small villages and stretches of northern forests passed by. He’d never done something so impulsive and dangerous. But then, he remembered the goddess’s face in his dream, kind and earnest and her clear, wild voice telling him  _ You must go to it. It must live _ . He’d been a religious man his entire life, and a goddess had spoken to him in a dream. What choice did he have? He also remembered the ring, and pulling off his woolen glove he held his hand out in the dim light of a passing street torch to look at it. It gleamed on his finger, as solid and as real as the horse beneath him or the stars above his head. And yet it had about it an air of mystery and otherworldliness. He had no doubt that it was a gift from the goddess, and that she’d given it to him for some important reason. But he had no earthly clue what that could be. 

He rode onwards, through the day, passing through many smaller northern villages. The people all gave their tithings to the King’s manor, but being farther away from the manor house’s lands, they woud be unlikely to recognize Aziraphale. Still, he kept his cloak drawn about his head and kept his eyes cast down. Being a singular white-blond man in a land full of dark haired people made him easily recognizable to anyone who noticed. He didn’t want anyone telling his brothers of the direction in which he’d ridden. His heart clenched painfully at the thought of the children not knowing where he’d gone. They would surely assume something had happened to him when he didn’t return from his supposed errands.

Eventually, when the villages fell away and he was alone on the road, he stopped and dismounted, allowing Thimble to drink from a nearby stream and pull up great tufts of river grass with his teeth while Aziraphale napped, wrapped in his cloak against a tree. An hour or so later they continued onward. 

As dusk fell, they stopped again, and Aziraphale made camp in the lee of a large stone. He built a small fire and had some bread and fruit, then slept fitfully for a few hours. He rose long before the morning sun and saddled and mounted a confused Thimble, who must have been wondering why his master was changing their usual schedule of mid afternoon rides to the village so drastically. This was strange land, south of the northern keep. Land Aziraphale had never visited before. He felt a stab of regret over letting his brothers be the only members of the family who traveled extensively. He had little experience dealing with cultures or lands different from his own. He realized with a start that he wasn’t even certain if the southern people spoke the same language that the northerners did. He assumed that they must, being that a few of his people had spoken with the southern king and this priest Hastur on prior trips to their lands. But he had never himself met a southerner before. 

He rode on through the second day without incident. As his brothers had foretold, the skies grew gray and dim as he moved south. The weather grew warmer, and the villages he passed through were filled with buildings made from clay, with roofs thatched with rushes, unlike the wooden and stone houses of the northern lands. The crops were indeed in poor shape, the wheat barely above knee height, when it should have been much higher. The pumpkins and squash and ground vegetables seemed small and browned. He spoke to none of the villagers, and none spoke to him, but they continued speaking in a tongue though accented strangely, he found could understand. This was a great relief. 

They camped on the second night by the side of a large river. Aziraphale took a little time to gather some interesting looking river reeds he saw on the banks. They might possess some sort of healing property. And if he were to help heal the dragon (this was rather clearly stated by the goddess Liyurna in his dream), then any little thing might help. For a moment, the enormity of the task She had set him to loomed large in his mind. Whatever was he to do? How could he possibly approach this great beast and hope to heal it, when it had clearly murderous, violent intentions towards humans? That night he prayed to Liyurna, offering her one of his apples as a gift on a small, makeshift altar he’d constructed from tree branches and smooth river stones by the water’s edge. “Please give me strength to complete the task that You have set for me dear goddess” he prayed, hands clasped before him, eyes squeezed shut. “Please let me live through this and be allowed to return home to my people” he added, hoping that she’d heard him. Hoping that his dream had in fact been a true calling to find the dragon and had not been a figment of his imagination. Ring or no ring, he could very well be marching towards his fiery death. 

He was soon to find out, because by noon on the third day, he came upon the lair of the beast. 


	2. Chapter 2

He’d assumed that it would take some searching to find the cave of the dragon, but it was very hard to miss. Firstly, the clouds were the densest and the darkest above the creature’s shadowy cave. Secondly, the air smelled strongly of sulfur, the closer he got to the cave. There was even a small path through the thin copse of trees between the road and the cave and something told him, some intuition deep inside, that he needed to follow this path to find the creature’s lair. 

He tried leading Thimble up the path, but his horse balked, neighing and shuddering, the animal refused to walk forward, and stood, sides heaving under Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale dismounted, and with a fond pat or two to Thimble’s wide, warm, sweat damp neck, he left his horse and walked up the path into the forest. It was a short walk of only a few minutes, during which the smell of sulfur increased and the air around him grew misty and smoky. Soon, he could see the dark mouth of the cave, looming up before him. It gaped in the side of a rocky hillside, shrouded in shadows, the entrance to the cave surrounded by large rocks and smaller gravel in tumbled piles and the pale, shattered fragments of multiple bones. Aziraphale gulped and tried to avoid looking too closely at the bones, knowing that among them were probably the remains of the soldiers who’d died in the blast of the dragon’s fire only a few short days ago. 

He stood for a moment, still partially hidden under the branches of the small, sparse trees that circled the entrance to the cave, waiting.. Uncertain of what to do next. He could hear no noise coming from the cave, nor see any sign of the beast within it. Though, to be fair, it was deeply shrouded in dark shadows and it was unlikely he’d be able to see the black scaled creature even if it were sleeping a few feet from the entrance. 

From his brother’s tale of what had transpired during their battle, he assumed that the dragon did not venture out during the day. And while he did not relish the prospect of entering the cave, alone and completely unprotected, he also thought that he should take advantage of the beast’s probable sluggishness and discomfort with daylight to make his approach sooner than later, while the sun was still high in the sky. That way, he might be able to flee back into the light and away if the dragon came after him.

He realized that his hands were shaking and his breath was coming fast as he looked up at the dark, yawning maw of the cave mouth. He thought for perhaps the hundred’s time  _ what in the gods’ names am I doing here? _ But then he remembered Liyurna’s words, her earnest request, and the sleeping, bleeding dragon from his dream, and so, pulling himself up and taking a deep, shuddering breath, he crossed the short distance between the trees and the opening of the cave and stepped inside. 

He immediately regretted not bringing a torch with him, as it was quite dark. Yet the moment he thought of a torch, the ring on his finger flared with crimson light. He gave a little surprised gasp as the bright red light emanated from the ring, taking a moment to marvel at it glowing away on his finger before reaching his hand out in front of him to illuminate his path deeper into the cave. 

The cave was musty, and he could hear and feel leaves crunching beneath his feet, could hear the drip drip drip of water in the distance somewhere far ahead of him. He did not have to walk far to find the beast. In fact, he almost stumbled over it’s nose in the semi-darkness. It lay coiled in on itself, just like in his dream, it’s massive, scaled head resting on its front legs, its long tail wrapped around itself, much like a giant house cat. Aziraphale’s heart was pounding in his chest at the site of the massive creature. It was indeed the size of a large house. Much larger than in his dream, and so dark that it’s outline was barely distinguishable from the cave walls. He looked up and saw a giant set of leathery wings folded around much of its coiled body, as if for protection or warmth. 

Uncertain of what to do now, he simply stared at it, letting his eyes roam over its sleeping form in the red tinted glow from the ring. Suddenly, the dragon gave a shuddering sigh, and Aziraphale, caught by surprise by the sound and sight of it, stumbled backwards with a sharp cry. It was then that he looked down and noticed that he was standing in a great pool of dark blood. He recoiled further in horror, stumbling backwards, unprepared for the sight, even though his dream had foretold as much. Seeing the pool of blood, black and shining in the red light of the ring, his shoes becoming stained by it, the beast curled in on itself and wounded, just like his dream, cemented the feeling that this was all real. That he had in fact spoken with a goddess and that he was now in the middle of a very unsettling and bizarre holy quest. 

He stumbled back against the side wall of the cave, his breath coming in great, panicked gasps, his eyes flitting over the still unmoving form of the black dragon coiled before him. He was overwhelmed and terrified and confused. What was he to do now? 

Perhaps because of the noise he’d made, he watched in horror as one of the beast’s massive eyes slitted open, revealing a slim glimmer of yellow and black. The lid peeled up and back slowly to expose a bright yellow eye, cut through with a black iris that ran vertically up and down, like the eye of a cat. Aziraphale held his breath, heart pounding inside his chest. The eye swiveled to regard him, widening slightly in what Aziraphale’s terror stricken mind recognized as… surprise? 

He heard a deep rumble come from the beast that shook the ground beneath his feet with a gentle vibration. Aziraphale pressed himself further against the rough stone wall at his back, praying to any god who would listen to spare his life, to not let this waking giant, this black scaled  _ demon _ swallow him whole or incinerate him in a blast of hellish flames. 

Nothing happened. The eye stayed open, and the beast continued to regard him, breathing slowly, a sound like the blowing of a great bellows. It’s sides rose and fell slowly with each breath. Aziraphale stayed stock still, not daring to move a muscle. He was so focused on remaining frozen in place, his eyes locked to the eye of the great beast, that when he heard the strange voice, whispering as if in his ear, he jumped slightly and let out a little surprised yelp. 

_ *What have we here?*  _

The voice was raspy and soft, like the wind blowing through the leaves of the autumn trees at harvest time. It took Aziraphale’s adrenaline fueled brain a moment to realize that he hadn’t heard the voice with his ear, but had in fact heard it  _ inside his mind _

He didn’t react.. Didn’t respond, choosing instead to ignore the voice and remain still again. The beast however slowly moved it’s head, and opening both eyes, swiveled it’s long, reptilian face towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale thought he might die from fear. He took another stumbling step backwards, back towards the mouth of the cave, keeping his back pressed against the rough, uneven wall of the cave as he did so. Perhaps he could sidle his way to the entrance and escape like this… while keeping his eyes on the dragon, and himself pressed against the wall. He took another swift, backwards step, his hand reaching out behind him to make sure there were no obstacles in his path, his eyes remaining fixed on the yellow eyes of the beast. 

_ *Yes, run little person. Run away before you are eaten* _

the voice echoed through his mind again. It was distinctly  _ not _ Aziraphale’s imagination. It was distinctly different from the other contents of Aziraphale’s head. An alien presence that echoed inside his mind. Was it… could it be?… _ it couldn’t be _ ... 

Curiosity stayed his fear for a brief moment. Summoning up all of the courage he could muster, he swallowed thickly. His mouth had gone dry from the heart pounding fear he’d been experiencing for the past several minutes, but he managed to croak out one, weak word 

“Hello?” He asked, keeping his gaze locked on the yellow eyes of the massive beast, curled in a pool of its own blood. 

The dragon blinked, slowly and deliberately, then it’s eyes widened. No longer was it half lidded and half dead. It was suddenly very aware. 

_ *Did you hear me little man? Can you hear me speaking to you?* _

_ _

Even though the voice was echoing inside Aziraphale’s head, he could sense surprise and a questioning tone as the next words whispered in his thoughts. 

“Y-yes” Aziraphale stammered, then gasped in fear as the creature raised its head and extended its very long neck to bring its face closer to where Aziraphale cowered, clutching at the wall of the cave. He could feel the heat of the beast’s breath gust towards him as it exhaled.

_ *Impossible* _ came the next thought

“Quite possible, I assure you” Aziraphale responded out loud, his voice shaking. His overwhelming curiosity at being able to hear the beast speaking to him had temporarily dampened down his mortal fear that the creature would rip him to shreds. He was able to keep his tone polite and rational, despite the fact that his voice shook slightly. “How...How are you able to..?” he let his sentence hang there in the air between them. He was speaking with a dragon. No one would believe him if he were to tell them. 

_ *No one. No one has ever heard me speak this way before now* _ the beast replied, pulling its head back and tilting it to the side in such a human approximation of confusion that Aziraphale heard himself bark out a stiff, humorless laugh at the sight. 

“Well, I can promise you” Aziraphale replied, voice still shaking and strained from residual fear “I’ve never been spoken to by a … a … dragon before”. He hoped fervently that the creature didn’t mind being referred to as such. What else was he to call it? ‘Beast’ seemed rude. As did ‘creature’, and ‘the great worm’ seemed right out.

The dragon took a deep breath in, and thinking it might be inhaling in order to incinerate him, Aziraphale flinched and closed his eyes, cringing, waiting for a fiery death. But the beast had only been sighing it seemed, for shortly afterwards, it let out a deep gust of sulfur scented air and lay its head back down again. 

_ *How fitting* _ Aziraphale heard the words bloom inside his head * _ that you should find me at death’s door. We could have had such conversations.* _

Upon hearing this, Aziraphale’s fear fled, to be replaced by a rush of sympathy and a sharp twinge of alarm “No! No you mustn’t die! I’ve come to help you!” he cried, involuntarily stepping away from the wall and towards the dragon, his hand outstretched. 

The dragon, who’s eyes had begun to drift closed again, opened them and looked at Aziraphale with curiosity where he stood, frozen in the act of stepping closer. * _ Is that so?* _ Aziraphale heard it respond. Did he imagine that tone of resignation in it’s ghostly voice? 

“Yes! I was commanded to help you!” Aziraphale replied, feeling suddenly quite silly at the words that had just left his mouth. But then again, he was in a cave, conversing with a scaled beast, the size of a manor house, so who was to say what was silly any longer?

This got the dragon’s attention. It’s eyes widened again, though it did not lift its head again. It seemed that it had little strength left.  _ *If that is true little man, It will be quite difficult for you to treat me in this form* _ it said. * _ for I am quite large, and you are quite small* _

_ This form? _ Wondered Aziraphale. But before he could ask what the dragon meant, the beast was speaking again.

* _ If I change my form to make it easier for you to treat me, you must promise not to kill me. For I shall be quite small and helpless. And you, from the looks of you are a… * _ here it paused for a moment, seeming to consider it’s next words * _ Western man? Dressed as a northerner?... it was northern soldiers who brought me this low in the first place. I have no desire to die at the tip of your sword* _

Aziraphale hurried to reassure it. “No! No of course I won’t harm you. My mother was western, and my father northern, but I am a simple priest, not a soldier. I carry with me only healing herbs and remedies. I have no sword”

The beast seemed reassured by his words.  _ *Very well, northern, western priest. I would ask you to turn around for a moment. My transformation is not a pretty thing to see* _

Burning up with curiosity over this “transformation” the dragon spoke of, Aziraphale dutifully and shakily turned around so that he faced away from the beast and back towards the mouth of the cave. He heard a strange, whispering sound, and the scrabble of what could be claws against a rock floor and felt a gust of air blow against his back.

“You may turn around again” came a strained, soft voice from behind him. A completely different voice than the one that spoke in his head. It was audible to Aziraphale’s ears for one thing, and it sounded…human. He whirled around, and at first could see nothing. The dragon was gone and the cave appeared empty. But slowly, as his eyes adjusted from looking back at the dim gray light that filtered in from the cave mouth, with the aid of the red light of the ring, he saw the small form of a human body, lying in the vast pool of the dragon’s dark blood. He stepped slowly forward, ignoring the splashing sounds his feet made as he approached. 

It was a man. At least Aziraphale thought it was a male person. It was very hard to tell as the person’s body was long and slender, and it’s face was partially shrouded by dark, stringy, blood soaked hair. It lay on its side, breathing shallowly, hand outstretched and resting in the dragon’s blood. 

“I seem to have made quite a mess” The person, it was a male’s voice after all, said in a hushed voice that cracked with exhaustion. Aziraphale reached him and stood looking down at his slender, blood covered body for a moment, unsure of what to do. The man was naked, and filthy, and Aziraphale was out of his depth. 

“Can I… can I help you up? I think we need to find some water” he said, his small amount of healer’s training thankfully taking over. 

“Yes” rasped the man, who then turned his face up to look at Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn’t see much of his features in the darkness, except that they were sharp and refined and that his eyes retained the yellow and black strangeness of the dragon’s eyes. The man reached out a blood covered hand for Aziraphale to grasp and he took it without hesitation, gripping the man’s forearm with his other hand and helping him to stand, his fingers slipping a bit against the man’s skin due to the copious amounts of blood that seemed to be everywhere. The man got shakily to his feet, swaying dangerously, and so Aziraphale, without a thought for what all the blood would do to his clothing, stepped up close and pulled the man’s arm around his shoulders to support him. The man weighed very little. He was tall, a little taller than Aziraphale, and very thin. His long, dark, blood soaked hair hung down about his face and shoulders and he didn’t smell very good. The reek of stale sweat and blood and body odor assaulted Aziraphale’s nostrils, but he forced down the wave of revulsion he felt as a result and asked the man “I heard dripping. Is there a stream nearby? Or a pool of water?”

“Yes” croaked out the man, nodding with his head further into the cave. “In that direction”. Aziraphale helped him to walk and he did so very slowly, wincing in pain in the dim, red light from the ring as the two of them moved slowly a little more deeply into the cave. 

Within a few steps, the dripping had grown louder and Aziraphale sensed that they were nearing its source. 

“You may release me” the man said, his voice soft and close in Aziraphale’s ear. “I can make my way to the water by myself” Aziraphale didn’t argue. He let loose his grip on the man’s arm and felt the man pull away from him and stumble towards the source of the dripping sound. Then he heard the small splashing sounds of the man presumably entering the water. He waited patiently, unable to see much beyond a foot in front of him, and this only because of the eerie red light coming from the ring. 

After what seemed like a very long time, and much wet splashing, though it was hard to tell the passage of minutes in the dark depths of the cave, the man returned. He had washed himself off, and he staggered towards Aziraphale, gleaming wetly, his hair still hanging in damp curls about his face, but this time it was dark with water, instead of blood. Aziraphale offered his hand as the man came within the circle of red light cast by the ring and he gratefully accepted his aid. Together, they moved slowly, Aziraphale supporting the man with his arm slung over his shoulder as before, back towards the mouth of the cave. 

“We must get you out into the light” Aziraphale said “There is no way for me to help you in a dank, filthy cave like this. You need fresh air and soft earth beneath you”

The man nodded at his side. He thankfully smelled much better after his bath. “Yes.” he agreed. “Only the sunlight is not kind to my eyes. We must wait for a few hours for the sun to set.”

“Do we have a few hours?” Aziraphale asked worriedly. He had glimpsed a dark gash in the man’s side, and another bleeding gash in his shoulder. “You are bleeding and gravely wounded”

“I’ll live a little while longer” the man replied, but his voice was tight with pain, and Aziraphale felt his insides clench with sympathy. They limped their way around the pool of the dragon’s blood and towards the mouth of the cave, until there was a little light to see by. 

“I think it’s best to stay here and build a fire” Aziraphale said, looking around him at the piles of leaves and animal bones. “If you could wait here, I can go to my horse and fetch my supplies”

“Whatever you wish” the man replied. He sounded resigned and exhausted. Aziraphale helped him to sit down near the entrance to the cave, careful that he still sat mostly in shadow. Even so, the man shielded his eyes from the dim sunlight that filtered in, as if it pained him. Aziraphale busied himself gathering up twigs and leaves and other forest floor detritus to build a small fire. Once he’d gathered a large enough pile, he pictured the image of a glowing ember in his mind’s eye and waved his hands over the leaves and twigs. They instantly began to smoke, and then burst into a cheery flame. Aziraphale looked up to see an expression of surprise pass over the man’s face in the dim light from the mouth of the cave. 

“I’ll be back in a moment” he stammered, then hurried out of the cave and back down the path to where Thimble still waited. The horse was predictably munching away at the long grasses at the base of the path by the road. Strangely, this time, though he balked slightly at the smell of the blood on Aziraphale’s tunic, he allowed himself to be led up the path, back towards the cave. Perhaps he could no longer sense the dragon, being that it had transformed itself into a man? Though the horse did enter the small copse of trees before the cave, he stopped there, refusing to be led any closer. This was fine with Aziraphale, who had no desire to traumatize his steed. He swiftly unfastened his bag of herbs, a blanket, bandages and the water skein from Thimble’s saddle and hurried back to the mouth of the cave. 

“May I.. see your wounds please?” he asked. The man obediently leaned over onto his side… collapsed really, exposing a long slice in his right side, over his ribs and down to his hip. It was a shallow wound, but blood still oozed slowly from it, red and slick. Aziraphale sucked in his breath at the sight of it. He swiftly uncorked his water skien, said a quiet prayer to the gods and spilled a little into the wound to make certain it was clean. The man hissed and drew back slightly in pain. “I’m sorry” Azirpahale whispered, feeling guilt over hurting the man, even in the service of trying to heal him. 

“Don’t concern yourself with my pain” the man replied, his voice thick and labored, as if he struggled to get the words out. “Do what you must. And… thank you.” He lay still then and let Aziraphale press a swiftly made poultice of herbs tightly into the wound with a soft, clean cloth to stop the bleeding and banish infection. He asked the man to sit up again, and assisted him to do so by gripping his arm again to pull him upright. Then he wrapped bandages tightly around the man’s slender torso to hold the poultice in place. Next he saw to the gash in the man’s shoulder, pouring more water, applying a second poultice and wrapping it in place under the man’s armpit. After this, he held the water skien to the man’s lips 

“Here” he urged. “Drink” and the man obeyed, gulping thirstily at the water, letting it splash over his chin and down his chest. Then he lay down on his good side and promptly lost consciousness. Aziraphale took a moment to make sure he was still breathing, then he draped his woolen blanket over the man’s nude body and sat himself across the small fire from the man to wait until darkness. He was exhausted himself, after such a long and strange day.. A day in which he’d feared for his life, had spoken to a dragon and had seen (or rather heard) it turn itself into a man. His head was spinning with the magical things he’d witnessed and he was crashing in the aftermath of all the fear and wonder he’d experienced in just the past hour or so. 

Despite his exhaustion though, Aziraphale took a moment to regard the man lying unconscious across the fire from him. The light from the flames and the thin afternoon light coming in from the cave mouth afforded him a better look at the mysterious person who lay several feet away. Frustratingly, the man’s dark hair had fallen over his face again as he lay, and so Aziraphale could not study his features, though from his memories of helping the man to the water inside the cave, he was certain they were narrow and refined. His body was long limbed and slender, the sharp angle of his hip jutting up under the blanket, a long fingered, elegant hand flung out and resting against the cave floor. His feet, one of which poked out from beneath the blanket, were also long and slender. He was a person of lanky limbs and sharp angles. His hair, from what Aziraphale could see was curly, but quite long, shoulder length or longer. It was wet and so merely looked dark and of indeterminate color. Aziraphale had a strong urge to sweep it away from the man’s face so that he could see him more clearly. 

_ Well,  _ he reasoned with himself  _ a good healer would need to see his patient’s face wouldn’t he? To tell if he were in pain _ . And before he could second guess himself, he had climbed to his feet and slowly, quietly made his way over to the sleeping man. He reached out a trembling hand and gently pulled the dark curtain of hair away from the man’s face. The man flinched slightly and moaned softly in the back of his throat, but didn’t wake. Aziraphale tucked the dark hair behind the man’s ear and took a moment to look down at his face in the light from the fire. 

He was startlingly handsome. Even unconscious and bedraggled though he was, Aziraphale could see high cheekbones, a narrow nose, artfully shaped brows and a soft, full mouth. Quite handsome indeed. Aziraphale felt his breath catch a little in his throat at his first real sight of the mysterious man’s sleeping face. He swiftly made his way back to his side of the fire and sat down again, his eyes fixed to the dragon-man, eyes roaming with curiosity over his features. What a bizarre turn of events this was… a little more than three days ago, he’d thought of the dragon as a terrible creature, a murderous beast, and now.. Now he was a helpless man, naked and bleeding and lying unconscious across the flames from Aziraphale. A helpless man with the beautiful face of a god. 


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale woke with a start an indeterminate time later. It was dark, and the fire had burned down to low embers. He rubbed at his face, then slowly got up, aching all over from sleeping upright against a cave wall, and stumbled about, gathering more twigs and leaves with the aid of the glowing ring. It had lept into ruby flame the moment he’d felt a stab of anxiety over how dark it was, and Aziraphale marveled that perhaps it reacted instantly to his needs. Even with the light from the ring, gathering a pile of flammable material in the dark was no easy task. Eventually, he had a new fire built. A larger one than before, because he’d ventured out of the cave to find bigger branches to burn. He could see the man across from him, still asleep, on his back now, seemingly oblivious to the hard floor of the cave, head turned away and long, pale neck exposed, limbs every which way. He had kicked the blanket half off of him, uncovering his smooth chest and flat stomach. Aziraphale quickly went to him and pulled the blanket back up and over the man’s upper torso, then felt at the man’s neck for a pulse. One beat there, steady and strong, and Aziraphale felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. His fingers against the man’s neck woke him and he turned his face towards Aziraphale and croaked out a small confused noise. 

“Hello” Azirapahle responded softly, not wanting to scare the man. “Hello. You’re safe. I’ve tended to your wounds and you slept for a while”

“Hello priest” the dragon man said in a voice like sandpaper. “Have you more water?”

“Yes! Just a moment” Aziraphale swiftly went to fetch the water skien and held it up to the man’s lips again so that he could drink. He made sure to support the man’s head with his hand so that he didn’t drown, as he was lying flat on his back, and the silky soft feel of the man’s now-dry hair against his fingers was distracting. The man took several long gulps of water, then nodded his thanks, pulling away and wincing as he tried to sit up. Azirpahale helped him with a hand around his slender upper arm and soon the man was sitting, propped against the cave wall. 

“It’s night now” Aziraphale said, completely unnecessarily. “When you feel strong enough, I think we should leave the cave and head to the small copse of trees over there to set up a more permanent and comfortable camp.” Something, perhaps it was fear, flitted across the man’s face as Aziraphale spoke those words.

“I..” he stammered out uncertainly “I haven’t gone far from this cave in a very long time.”

Aziraphale didn’t know how to respond to that exactly. “How long ago was that?” he asked. 

  
“Oh I’ve lost count of the years” the man replied, his voice stilted and tight. “Suffice to say, I’ve been curled in that cave for far too long”

“How long were you..a.. Um… dragon?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly. 

“I am _ still  _ a dragon” the man replied, a note of cynicism entering his tone “I will  _ always _ be a dragon. I can switch back and forth at will, from dragon to man, but being a man is painful and saddens me. It reminds me of things...things I’ve lost.. And so… after a while, I simply stayed as a beast. It was more comfortable and natural.. It fit better with the surroundings” He waved an elegant hand at the cave that surrounded them and the rocks and animal bones scattered on the rocky ground. 

“Why are you.. Like this?” Aziraphale ventured cautiously

“That, my north-western priest is a long story, and one I don’t relish recounting at this moment” the man grinned humorlessly, then winced in pain. 

“Can you walk?” Aziraphale asked, choosing to focus on the problems at hand since the man seemed unwilling to discuss his past further. “We should really get you to a place more suited to healing”

“Yes. I can.. With your help” the man replied, reaching out a hand to Aziraphale, who jumped up and rushed over (a bit too eagerly he feared) to grasp it and slowly help pull the man to his feet. He draped the man’s left arm around his shoulders and let him lean his body, half covered in the wool blanket against Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale reached his other hand around to support the man under his arm, carefully avoiding his bandaged side. Together, they hobbled slowly out of the cave and into the mild night air. 

Aziraphale could see his horse’s large, pale form in the darkness ahead, but the minute Thimble caught a whiff of their approach, the horse shied nervously away. 

“Animals do not trust me.. And for good reason” the man rumbled, his mouth close to Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale nodded in response, trying not to think of all the small (or perhaps not so small) woodland animals that the dragon had devoured over the years of its stay in the cave. He was distracted as well by the feel of the man’s body pressed up against his side. This close, he could feel the soft curls of the man’s hair against the side of his face, and could smell the man’s earthy smell, far improved from his dip in the cave lake. He felt his heart rate increase and his face grow hot at the man’s proximity, and he inwardly scolded himself at his body’s reactions to being close to the man. He was an invalid. A wounded person in need of aid, and here was Aziraphale, struggling to suppress some very un-priestly imaginings about possibly running his fingers through that long, soft hair. Whatever had gotten into him? He shook his head slightly to banish thoughts of the man’s full lower lip and elegant hands and focused his attention on helping him limp towards the group of trees a several yards away.

They reached the trees and he helped the man sink gratefully down onto the mossy, leaf strewn ground beneath them. Aziraphale set about making a new fire, gathering larger branches from beneath the trees. A sliver of moon was visible above them, and it helped cast a dim light. The ring still shown as well, allowing Aziraphale to rush back to the cave fire to grab a flaming branch with which to ignite the new pile of wood. Soon, they had a cheery fire going beneath the trees. 

The man had fallen back onto his good side, pulling the blanket around him. Aziraphale suddenly remembered his extra set of clothing and rushed over to Thimble’s saddlebags to grab them. He returned and held out the soft bundle to the reclining man. “Here.” he said “I brought an extra pair of hose and a shirt. You can have them.. Though I’m sure you’ll be swimming in them, as thin as you are” 

“Thank you” the man replied. “Can you… can you help me put them on?”. Aziraphale, his cheeks burning, could only nod. He knelt down by the man’s feet and, averting his eyes slightly so as not to stare at the man’s lanky, naked body, he helped him put the hose on and pull them up, then helped the man don the linen shirt. The hose sagged around knees and the shirt was voluminous around his chest and middle. The sleeves however were too short, being that his arms were longer than Aziraphale’s, and his hands and delicate looking, bony wrists stuck out from the cuffs a bit too far. Regardless, he was dressed, and no longer exposed to the elements. It would have to do. 

“Are you hungry?” Aziraphale asked once the man had settled himself back to the soft earth next to the fire. “I have bread and cheese and fruit”

“Yes, I am.” the man replied and gratefully took the apple and small loaf of bread and hunk of cheese Aziraphale handed him from his saddle bag. He bit into the bread like a starving man and chewed far too few times before swallowing down a large bite and making short work of the rest. The cheese was gulped down next. He then attacked the apple, his straight, very white teeth flashing in the light from the fire as he bit hungrily into the crisp flesh of the fruit. Aziraphale ate an apple and a hunk of bread himself, only more slowly, while he watched the man devour his portion. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Perhaps he had not for the six or seven days since he’d been attacked by Gabriel’s men. Aziraphale wordlessly handed him another small loaf of bread and the last apple once he’d finished his food, and the man ate these with just as much speed and gusto, wiping away the apple juice that coated his lips with a long, lean forearm. 

Something occurred to Aziraphale suddenly. “Do you have a name?” he asked. Wondering, strangely if this was a forward thing to ask a magical man-dragon. 

The man regarded him briefly, his yellow, reptilian eyes strikingly bright in his narrow, handsome face. “You may call me Crowley” he said, with a strange tone to his voice. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked  _ my but that’s a strange name _ . “Alright then,” he said “My name is Aziraphale. Aziraphale Garnet Fell. It’s nice to meet you”

“Aziraphale” the man, Crowley said, testing out the sound of the unusual name on his tongue. “And you say you’re a priest? And that you come from the north?” he asked.

“Yes..” Aziraphale replied cautiously. They were heading into uncomfortable territory. “It was.. It was my brother’s soldiers who attacked you, I’m sorry to say”

“Don’t be sorry” Crowley’s voice was sharp. “I killed several of them, and for that I’ll never be forgiven”

“Yes… You did” Aziraphale remarked, casting his eyes downward, unsure what else to say in response as he felt the mood around the campfire go somewhat sour.

“I would not have hurt them if they hadn’t attacked me” replied Crowley, his voice hushed “I have been attacked many times. Stabbed at. Shot at with arrows. I have fought them all off. At first I tried to be careful. I had no urge to hurt those who came to try and dispatch me. But eventually, as I stayed a dragon longer and longer.. I grew to hate them, the men who came to try to kill me. From the south and the west and the east they came. I grew bitter and my mind sank further and further into the thoughts of a beast and away from the compassion of a man. And so, I lashed out.” He paused for a moment, looking up at Aziraphale with his brilliant yellow eyes. “Your brother’s men were just the last in a long string of soldiers who’ve attempted to destroy me. My patience has worn thin. I tried to turn away from them and return to my cave, but they continued pursuing me. It was then that I scorched them with flames.”

“As you can see” he gestured down at his lanky body “I paid dearly for my violent actions. And…” here he paused again, seeming to struggle inwardly “I apologize for the pain I know I’ve caused. Those men had wives and children, mothers and brothers and sisters no doubt. I will feel their deaths for the rest of my days” he finished in a soft voice, face and eyes cast down. He pulled the blanket more tightly around him and avoided looking at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was struck by a feeling of deep pity for the wounded man across the flames from him. “How…how did you come to be this way?” he asked, desperate for a change in subject. 

Crowley was silent for a long moment, and Aziraphale was just about to withdraw his question, to apologize for prying, when the man spoke up again. “I was cursed” he said quietly, eyes still cast down. “Cursed by my father’s wicked priest. For refusing to marry and take the throne”

Aziaphale could hardly believe his ears “You’re.. _ you’re  _ the son of the southern king??” 

Crowley looked up at him, eyes full of some sharp emotion, anger? Regret? Fear? “Yes.” he replied “Yes. I am he. I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. I suppose gossip travels far though, and it has been a long time. My father wished me to marry some insipid duke’s daughter and have a passel of children. Nothing could be less appealing to me, and so I refused. I had no desire to rule the kingdom, nor to be in close communication with the evil priest, my uncle, who’s had my father wrapped around his finger with dark magic since I was a little child. And so I refused.” Here Crowley sighed deeply, wincing slightly at the pain it caused him from his wounds. 

“My father told me that a son who refused to marry and carry on the family line was less than worthless to him, and so he cast me out. Unfortunately, my uncle had worse plans in mind for me. He wanted the kingdom for himself, so to make sure I couldn’t change my mind and come back to claim the throne, he turned me into a dragon with his black arts.. And well.. You know the rest.” Crowley sagged suddenly, laying down to rest as if the telling of this short tale had taken a lot out of him. 

“Surely, you could turn yourself into a human man and plead your case could you not? Aziraphale asked. 

“It did no good” Crowley responded, his eyes were closed and he lay, breathing shallowly. He looked exhausted, and Aziraphale hated to tax him, but he had so many questions about this mysterious man’s plight. “Even when I am not a dragon, I still have these blasted yellow eyes, and my people thought me possessed by evil spirits. They came after me, and would surely have killed me. I transformed back into a dragon in self defense. This made them fear me even more and sealed my fate as a monster and an outcast. And eventually, I simply found it easier to stay that way more often than not as the years went by and I grew lonelier and more withdrawn. My people, the southern people are highly superstitious and prone to fear of the unknown.” 

“Ahh.” replied Aziraphale, understanding at last. 

Crowley chuckled humorlessly as he lay with eyes closed. “In the beginning, the people of nearby towns, not knowing who or what I was, started sending virgins into my layer to try and appease me, as if I were some sort of vengeful god with a taste for flesh. Those poor girls were so frightened. I simply ignored them until they stumbled back home.”

Aziraphale could not help but smile at this little tale. “Why did you never marry?” he asked, picking nervously at a bit of moss on the forest floor in front of him. 

“I have no interest in women, outside of friendship, nor in the making of babies with them” Crowley replied bluntly. “My tastes were for other men, and this did not sit well with my father. He was repulsed by me and my refusal to act like a good son.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks burning and he kept his eyes cast downwards, afraid to look at Crowley. “Yes” he replied. “I as well. I was next in line for the throne, and yet I had no interest in marriage, and so I went into the priesthood. That way, I could help my people without taking a wife or being bogged down with the political affairs of the kingdom. My brothers were always better suited for ruling than I in any case, and they have a large number of children, one of whom will one day take the crown once they’ve passed on.”

“You tell the truth?” Crowley’s voice was incredulous at the startling coincidences, the similarities in their stories, and yet Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. Talking about this subject out loud was uncomfortable to him. Doubly uncomfortable now that he knew the tragically handsome man across from him shared his sexual tastes. “You too are a prince?” Crowley asked, disbelief shining through the exhaustion in his voice. “A priest-prince of the north? Huh” he laughed weakly. “Will wonders never cease”

“Yes, it’s true” Aziraphale replied, still keeping his eyes cast down. “It is a fine vocation, and far better suited for my needs. I spend a lot of time among the people, helping to school the children and listening to the worries and woes of the villagers. I too...prefer… the.. Um.. company of men,... physically… Though, it is a moot point now, being that I am a virgin who’s taken a vow of chastity” he finished quietly. 

An awkward silence descended onto their little camp. Crowley’s voice, when it rang out, breaking the silence a long minute later shook Aziraphale abruptly out of his self conscious reverie.

“Well… it appears the north is also quite invested in sending me virgins to devour” he said with a smile in his voice. Aziraphale looked up at him in shock and saw laughter glimmering in Crowley’s yellow eyes. He heard a surprised giggle escape his lips and soon they were both laughing. Aziraphale more heartily, as Crowley wheezed out a careful laugh while holding onto his sides until tears rolled out of his eyes and down his cheeks. 

After they’d both regained their composure, there was a new warmth between them. A companionable nature that spoke of a burgeoning friendship. Aziraphale told Crowley tales of the north, their gods, their sturdy wooden manor houses, far better suited to the frigid weather of the north than the stone castles of the west and the south. He told Crowley of his kingdom, his brothers, their cruel nature and rash ways, but also how they were relatively fair rulers, despite all of that. He told Crowley of his nieces and nephews, children who he loved as if they were his own, and of his mother and her teaching him of magic. 

Crowley told Aziraphale of his memories of the southern court. Aziraphale was surprised to hear that the southern castle was several days ride south of their current location, and that it grew warmer and lusher the farther south one traveled. “This cave is in what we southerners refer to as “the northern keep”. For us, this is a frigid northern wasteland. For you, it is likely a lush summer realm.” Aziraphale had to agree. He had wondered why there were no tigers or parrots flitting about in the forest, as he’d heard tell of the exotic wildlife of the south when he was a child. Crowley laughed. “Those are far further south. I was banished here for its sparseness and its distance from my family’s castle.” He spoke of the southern court from when he was a boy, how before his uncle, priest Hastur had complete control over his father’s court, how it had been a merry place, where the king and queen threw large balls and where the people would dance and sing regularly. They harvested the land and there were golden bowls of fruit set about the palace rooms, and how they fished the southern waters and ate of crab and octopus and other mysterious sea creatures that Aziraphale had never heard of. 

It all sounded very exotic. Crowley told him of how as he’d grown older, from a very young child into a young man, the priest Hastur had began whispering manipulative words into his brother the king’s ear. After the death of his mother the queen, the king (and a young Crowley) had been devastated by grief, and how Hastur had convinced the king to hand over the majority of his royal powers to the priest. How Hastur had used these powers to enact strict taxes and tighings, how he had young men and women brought to him as slaves, and if their families refused, he’d sent soldiers to arrest them and throw them in the dungeons, dungeons that had lain unused for several generations before the priest had come along. As the years had gone by, Hastur’s control had tightened on the court. He’d enacted crueler punishments and had grabbed more and more power, until it was too late for the grief stricken king or his young son to intervene and stop him. 

When Crowley had turned eighteen, his father, urged on by the priest, had insisted that he marry a young woman from a southwestern province, far from the castle. Crowley had not wanted to marry and had not wanted to leave his father’s side, had wanted to keep an eye on Hastur, but not as king, not from the vantage point of a person who might be the target of his malice. And so the priest had convinced Crowley’s father to banish him for insubordination. He’d cursed Crowley with a dark spell that transformed him into a scaled beast by slipping something into his evening wine when his father the king had been distracted. The curse doomed him to a half life. Crowley could become a man at will, but his yellow eyes had marked him as an enchanted creature, and the southern kingdoms were deeply suspicious of such creatures. Anyone suspected of being a witch, a warlock, a mage, a demon or any other occult creature was condemned to death. Apparently, the spell had changed the prince’s appearance to the degree that anyone who looked upon him would be unable to easily recognize him. His hair and skin had changed color, from the light brown skin and dark brown hair of the southern people, to pale white skin and demonic red hair. By firelight, Aziraphale could see that his hair, once clean and dry, was indeed quite red. It was a fetching combination with his yellow eyes and pale skin, though he didn’t say this to Crowley out loud. 

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “So.. you have been cursed to this existence from the time you were eighteen years of age?” he asked. Crowley nodded. “And how old are you now pray tell?”

Crowley wasn’t sure. He had been a dragon for so very long. Sometimes he had slept for years, curled deep inside the darkness of the cave. He’d utterly lost track of time. Aziraphale though could see fine lines around his brilliant eyes and a few silver strands among the flaming red of his hair. “You might be close in age to myself. And I am nearing fifty” he said gently. 

“Then it seems I have been cursed for thirty years” Crowley replied, looking down at the mossy floor of the forest, his eyes thoughtful. “I had been in my dragon form for a long time when you found me. I might not have even changed back to the shape of a man if you had not been able to hear me speaking to you. No one has been able to hear me before, and it shocked me into making a rash decision to help you save my life.” 

Aziraphale felt a great sadness arise inside him at the thought that this beautiful man, so full of fascinating stories and emotional depths had lost so much of his life to such a horrid curse. “Oh I am so very sorry” he said, surprised that his throat was choked up as he spoke. 

“It is what it is” replied Crowley flatly, still not looking up. “What I find strange, is how you could hear me where none other has.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully at this. “I have wrought small magics all my life. And I was given this ruby ring, which helped guide me to you and cast a light to lead me into the cave. Perhaps the magics inherent in the ring, or in my blood allowed me to hear you?” 

Crowley shrugged, and then winced suddenly in pain over what the action did to his shoulder wound. 

“We need to change your dressing” said Aziraphale, feeling a flash of guilt that he’d let his patient talk for so long when he was recovering from such serious wounds. “I’ll need to help you off with that shirt” he added, suddenly very uncomfortable. He’d seen this man naked, had wrapped his wounds in bandages and helped him to walk and even dressed him, and yet the thought of removing his shirt made his heart race. 

“Very well” Crowley replied and Aziraphale rose and came over to his side of the fire. He helped Crowley to pull off the shirt and carefully laid it aside, then went to his saddle bags for new bandages and a new cloth. He mixed fresh herbs and some water into a poultice and then gently helped Crowley to sit up against a tree so that he could remove his old bandages. The wound in his side looked improved. It had stopped bleeding and looked less angry about the edges. Aziraphale gently pressed the new dressing against Crowley’s side and wrapped him up again. Crowley helped him, and several times, their fingers brushed together when passing one another the bandage roll. Each time this happened, Aziraphale felt his face grow hot and his breath hitch a little bit in his throat. He was intensely attracted to this strange southern prince, in a way he’d never felt towards the few village men he’d fancied over the years. He struggled to keep his behavior polite and friendly as he knelt in front of Crowley and gently undid the bandages on his shoulder next. “So, why did you come to my aid then?” Crowley asked him, his voice shaking a bit from what Aziraphale assumed was exhaustion. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale was uncertain of how to respond to the man’s question. He thought for a moment as he carefully peeled the old poultice away from Crowley’s shoulder, wincing in sympathy at Crowley’s hissed intake of breath as a piece of the bandage clung to the wet edge of his sword wound and needed to be pulled free. “Well, to be quite honest, I was told to come… by a goddess.”

“A goddess?” Crowley’s finely shaped brows crept upwards in surprise. “Do you speak to goddesses often?”

“Well, yes and no” Aziraphale said, feeling sheepish. “I speak to them very often. They had never before spoken back to me.” he pressed the new poultice into Crowley’s shoulder wound and worked to secure it with new bandages as he spoke. “The night after my brothers returned home from… well... from attacking you, I had a very vivid dream of the goddess Liyurna. She is our goddess of wild things. You were also in the dream. You as a. erm.. dragon, lying in a great pool of blood, just as I found you in the cave... And she told me that I must go to you and that I must help you to live.”

“Did she?” Crowley’s voice had taken on a strange tone. He turned his bright yellow eyes, with their distinctive black slits for pupils to Aziraphale’s face as he spoke. Aziraphale finished up with wrapping Crowley’s shoulder and looked back at him and their eyes locked for a moment. Aziraphale grew conscious that he was kneeling very close to Crowley, and that their faces were very near to each other. His heart started pounding in his ears as he gazed into Crowley’s unusual, beautiful eyes. 

He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down the other man’s face to rest on Crowley’s soft, parted lips, wondering what it might be like to kiss them. He felt himself take a deep, shuddering sigh, then shook himself out of the trance he’d fallen into and hurried to get up. He quickly helped Crowley put his shirt back on, hoping the other man hadn’t senses his inner struggle, and draped the woolen blanket about Crowley’s shoulders before walking stiffly to his side of the fire to sit down again. What was he doing? Staring at this strange, enchanted man like he were a tasty Wintertide cake he wanted to devour. He was a priest. A man of the gods. Such thoughts and desires were unbecoming of him. Especially towards such a conflicted man as Crowley. A man who was single handedly responsible for the deaths of three of his countryman and the wounding of his own brother. He had to get a grip on his emotions and regain his composure. Crowley meanwhile, had wrapped himself up in the blanket and had lain down again on his good side, his lids were drooping with exhaustion, and he looked close to sleep. 

Aziraphale kept quiet and watched while the other man nodded off, as his body went limp and his breathing became slow and deep. He stoked the fire and got up to gather a few more small branches to keep it going. Once he had the fire crackling brightly, he lay himself down as well, wrapped in his own blanket and drifted off to sleep. He dreamed of the sunny southern court, and of a young man with dark hair and caramel colored skin smiling at him. 


	4. Chapter 4

He woke at midday with a start, immediately looking across the now mostly distinguished and smoking fire to find Crowley’s sleeping place empty. His heart immediately began hammering in his chest. Where had he gone? Aziraphale got shakily to his feet and looked hurriedly around the camp. It was then that he heard Crowley call out to him.

“Over here priest”. Aziraphale whirled around to see Crowley sitting, wrapped in the blanket, just inside the mouth of the cave, shrouded in shadows. “I woke up to the sun on my face and felt it best to come back in here to escape it” he explained. 

Aziraphale felt himself grow loose with relief. What had he expected? For Crowley to have snuck away in the night? Where was he to go? Perhaps, he had been afraid it had all been a strange dream. Either way, he was relieved to see the red haired man. Even within the shadows of the entrance of the cave, Aziraphale could see that Crowley’s hair was a brilliant dark copper color. As he walked closer, he could see Crowley for the first time in sufficient light, and he was struck with the full measure of the man’s beauty. His long copper hair fell in waves around his shoulders, framing an angular, handsome face, which was made somehow more handsome by contrast to his bright yellow eyes. He was still dressed in Aziraphale’s white shirt and homespun travel hose. 

“Were you able to walk well on your own?” He asked, feeling a bit ashamed for sleeping while the wounded man made his way to the cave on his own. 

“Yes. It wasn’t too difficult. I think your poultices are having an effect. I feel much better today”. Crowley grinned a lopsided grin and shielded his eyes to look up at Aziraphale where he now stood, next to him just inside the cave. 

“I’m glad to hear that” he replied softly, struggling internally with what Crowley’s little smile was doing to his heart rate. “Are you hungry? I know I am! I was about to bring out more bread and fruit if you’d like some.”

“I’d rather have a squirrel and a few plump birds, but yes, bread and fruit will do for this form” Crowley said with a sly look on his face. It took Aziraphale a moment to catch up, but once he understood, he let out a nervous laugh. 

“So… do you eat wild animals… in human form?” he asked, an unpleasant picture of Crowley ripping apart a helpless bird suddenly clouding his mind. 

“I used to” replied the copper haired man. “I would set traps and catch the beasts and kill them, skin them and cook them properly over a fire. But that was early on, when I could not stand to be in the form of the beast. As I spent more and more time as the dragon, it was simpler to just swallow things whole and spit out the bones.” He saw the uncomfortable look on Aziraphale’s face and hurried to reassure him “It is not something I relish doing in human form. The longer I stay as a man, the less appealing it feels to become the beast again.” here he paused and looked down at his hands, as if regretful “and to be honest.. It is a lonely way to live. Much better to have the company of a new friend than the dark emptiness of a smelly cave”.

Aziraphale, touched and a bit speechless at being referred to as a new friend sat down next to Crowley on the hard ground of the cave. After a moment, a thought came to him. “What are we to do about your eyes?” he asked. “We can’t stay here forever Crowley. I’ll need to take you back with me to the northern court. And you cannot stand the sunlight.”

Beside him, Crowley stiffened. He supposed the man was unprepared for talk of leaving the cave. But what other alternative was there? They could not very well go south together, what with his people’s superstitious nature. And Crowley could not stay here. The thought of his new friend, languishing away in a cave, by himself for the rest of his days was unbearable to Aziraphale. 

“Won’t your people murder me on sight?” Asked Crowley, bitterness and regret warring in his tone. 

“No, I think not. My people are far less superstitious than yours. They are not quite the most enlightened people in the land, but when you live somewhere cold and dark like we do, one does not tend to waste one’s time making up things to be upset over. One simply keeps warm, finds food and keeps the hearth fires burning. My mother practiced magic, when she was still alive, and my father knew this and accepted it. And I too practice small spells to help our household and the villagers from time to time. My brothers are not happy about it, but they are far from burning me at the stake.” Here he paused for a moment to think “It is probably best if we hide your eyes from them though. You have the same eyes as the dragon after all. We wouldn’t want to raise undue suspicion”

Crowley looked skeptical. “And what of the southern kingdoms? Am I to simply come home with you and abandon my people? Priest Hastur still rules and causes much mischief and grief in my lands.”

“We shall come up with a plan” Aziraphale said, with a surety he didn’t quite feel. “Perhaps my brothers will lend aid somehow. We will find a way to depose this horrid priest.”

Crowley turned to look at him and Aziraphale forgot to breath for a second as his eyes met Crowley’s. “If your brothers find out who I am, they will surely kill me” he said, his voice soft and his eyes serious. 

“Yes. Yes they will likely try” Aziraphale agreed. “But if we tell them as much truth as possible, it will be easier to keep up with the story. And they are not known for their powers of deduction. They’re mostly concerned with hunting, gambling, looking after the affairs of the kingdom and the drinking of wine.”

“What do you mean tell them the truth?” Crowley asked, his eyes wary.

“We’ll tell them that you are the banished southern prince of course” Aziraphale replied. A plan already taking inside his head. “And that I had a vision that I should go south to meet you and bring you here.” He thought as he spoke, coming up with a plot that would be believable. “And that you had finally come back from your banishment to try and fight the dragon and depose your uncle, but that although you killed the beast, you too were wounded in your endeavors.”  _ Yes… this might just work _ . “And that is why your eyes are hidden. They are scared from the heat of the dragon’s flames, and sensitive to the light of the sun! And with your wounds, grave as they are… well they’ll be very likely to believe us!”

Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment. “It might work. We’ll need to keep my face hidden somehow”

“Yes!” Aziraphale was growing excited by the plan they were hatching. “We could find you a veil of some sort. It is common practice in the north for those who are deformed about the face to hide themselves with a veil. And we could say that sunlight hurts your eyes due to your injury.”

Crowley looked skeptical. “I suppose that could work…” he said cautiously “still, hiding feels wrong.”

“I know, but at this point, it’s our only chance to bring you somewhere you can rest and recover and to plan for what to do about your ucle. And” Aziraphale added “I know my brothers. They will give you a once over, then forget you in favor of going on another military campaign or one of their endless hunting trips. Their wives and children will accept you as well. We are bored and in need of entertainment in the frozen north. I hope you have some good southern tales to keep them entertained. If so, they will adore you!”  _ I already do _ thought, but kept that to himself. 

“I suppose it is the best chance we have” Crowley replied. Then his eyes grew serious again and he looked down at his long fingered hands, where they lay laced in his lap. “I want to thank you Aziraphale” he said quietly, reverently. “You have done so much for me. You’re more than a priest. You have been my guardian angel. And for that, I am eternally grateful.” 

Aziraphale could feel his face flush and he swallowed thickly upon hearing Crowley’s words. “I… well… I.. you’re welcome. But I am no angel. Only a simple priest from a small northern kingdom.” he stammered out. 

“Whatever you say angel” Crowley cast a shy glance up at Aziraphale through his thick, copper lashes and Aziraphale felt his heart leap in his chest. 

“Lets get some food shall we?” he croaked out and got to his feet, a bit too quickly. He reached a hand down and helped pull Crowley up with him. Crowley pulled the blanket up over his head to shield his eyes and together they walked back to the shade of the trees. Crowley could indeed walk far better this morning, only keeping a hand on Aziraphale arm for balance. A hand that seemed to burn like a brand through the layers of Aziraphale’s tunic and undershift to the hungry skin beneath. 

They had a breakfast of bread and dried pears and then Aziraphale carefully changed Crowley’s bandages one more time. Aziraphale suggested that they start out for his kingdom at once. He knew it would be easier to travel by night, but he was impatient to get Crowley somewhere safe, with plenty of food and water and bandages. It would not do to live like vagabonds outside this blasted cave for much longer. Luckily, Crowley agreed with him. 

Soon they had Thimble’s saddle bags packed and loaded, and there came the problem of Crowley actually mounting Aziraphale’s horse. Thimble’s eye would roll ominously whenever Crowley came near. Crowley insisted that he could walk, but Aziraphale refused to hear of it. Walking that distance would only open up his wounds again and exhaust him needlessly, not to mention slowing them down considerably. 

He held Thimble’s head still with a hand on the horse’s bridle and beckoned Crowley to approach. “Walk here slowly” he instructed. “Let him get used to seeing you and smelling you as you come nearer”

He could see Crowley’s doubting expression, even from within the darkness of the makeshift blanket hood, but he obeyed and took a step or two towards Thimble. The horse shied away with a small nervous whinny, but Aziraphale held firm to the bridle and admonished him gently. “Don’t be rude Thimble” he scolded “Crowley here is a guest and a friend.” Thimble did not seem impressed by this news. He danced sideways and nickered nervously. 

“Aziraphale, I don’t think-…” Crowley began, but Aziraphale hushed him with a sharp motion of his hand. 

“This will work. It has to” he said in hushed tones. “Now, please, come a little closer.”

Over the course of the next half an hour or so, Crowley managed to come stand close to Thimble. The three of them were a bundle of nerves and this point. Once Crowley had stepped closer, Aziraphale instructed him to hold out his hand for Thimble to grow accustomed to his smell. Crowley did so, cautiously, and though Thimble whinnied again and danced away a little bit, he was coaxed to come back with a tug on the bridle. It was then that Aziraphale pulled out his secret weapon. A dried pear. He handed it to Crowley and said “feed him this. Put it your hand and hold your hand out very flat and let him eat from your palm”

“Clever move angel” Crowley grinned at him. Aziraphale’s chest warmed significantly at the use of this new pet name and he had to force his attention back to the task at hand and stop grinning at Crowley like a fool. He watched as Crowley held the pear out towards Thimble.. Watched as Thimble cautiously wuffled at the pear and Crowley’s hand, smelling for danger, and felt a bloom of triumph inside as the horse swiftly gobbled up the pear from the red haired man’s palm. 

“Now pet him on the nose” Aziraphale instructed. Crowley gave him a sidelong glance, but did as he was told and cautiously stroked Thimble on his soft nose, making a reassuring clicking noise with his tongue. Thimble accepted the touch with barely a shiver. 

“I think he’ll let you mount him now” Aziraphale said in a hushed tone. “Let me mount first, then I’ll pull you up behind me. He did as he said, settling himself in the saddle, and then reaching down to pull Crowley up behind him. Crowley mounted relatively easily, despite his wounds, and Aziraphale was reminded of his heritage. Princes always knew how to ride, how to fight, how to speak diplomatically. It was bred into them from childhood. Aziraphale himself had learned the rudiments of the sword and the bow a young age, before abandoning them for the pull of the written word, but had grown pitifully rusty with lack of practice. 

Crowley settled himself behind Aziraphale, shifting a bit uncomfortably. He had not been in a saddle for thirty years after all. “You can hold onto me. For safety” Aziraphale instructed. Crowley dutifully wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pressing his back and belly and chest up against Aziraphale in the process, and Aziraphale had to take a moment, and a deep breath to suppress what this contact did to his body. He gently bumped Thimble’s sides with his heels and the horse ambled into motion as they walked away from the copse of trees and the cave and down to the road to head north. 


	5. Chapter 5

They rode for several hours before stopping in a small village at an inn to buy some dried meat for Crowley and more bread and a hunk of hard cheese. It was growing colder as they rode north, so Aziraphale purchased an extra blanket and a thick coat for Crowley, some woolen socks and simple leather shoes with the few gold coins he’d thought to bring with him. He advised the red haired man to wait on the horse, in the shade of some nearby trees, not wishing his shrouded face or yellow eyes to cause concern or apprehension. An hour or so later, they stopped for the night, in the woods at the side of the road. Aziraphale used his ember spell to start another fire and looking up he saw Crowley’s expression of surprise and curiosity. “When is it that you learned these magic spells?” he asked Aziraphale. 

“My mother’s people in the west use magic as part of their everyday lives. My mother taught me from infancy, and she in turn was taught by her mother.”

“What is it you can do with this magic?” Crowley asked

“Many things really” Aziraphale replied. “The lighting of candles and the starting of fires. The calling of breezes, the helping of plants to grow and the easing of the symptoms of certain illnesses. Lots of things can be accomplished with the use of a spell, but only” he amended “If he who uses it is pure of intention. It is not permitted to use this magic to impress, to fool or harm the innocent.”

“Ahhh” said Crowley, looking satisfied by this description. “So, I was rescued not only by a prince and a priest, but also a magician. Quite impressive.” his eyes sparkled with mirth from his place across the fire from Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale hoped the darkness would hide his blush. “I’m hardly a magician, nor am I really a prince. I am certainly a priest though.”  _ a priest who took a vow not to do the things I long to do to you _ he thought ruefully. My, but this man tested his resolve to chastity, tempted him with thoughts quite unseemly for a man of the cloth. 

“You’re still an angel though. To me anyway” Crowley said softly, and it took all of Aziraphale’s strength to look away from his flirtatious yellow eyes and stoke the fire with a long stick. 

They continued to chat amiably for a while and to eat the food Aziraphale had bought them for dinner. Eventually, Aziraphale changed Crowley’s bandages one more time, whistling appreciatively at how well his wounds were healing. “You seem to be mending quite swiftly” he remarked as he fastened the last bandage in place. 

“That, angel is a result of the magic curse I live under. A beneficent side effect for a change. I heal quickly. Though,” he added “I’d have surely perished from the severity of my wounds if you had not come along to feed and treat me. There are certain wounds that a magic curse cannot cure on its own.”

Aziraphale nodded. He noticed that Crowley has shivering in the cold night air when he helped him to dress again, so, instead of going back to his side of the fire, he sat down next to Crowley and wrapped the blanket around the both of them. “Is this alright?” he asked Crowley. “I see that you’re cold and thought this a more efficient way of staying warm.”

“It’s fine angel” Crowley replied, (Aziraphale’s new nickname seemed to have stuck, not that he minded). He sighed happily and leaned against Aziraphale’s warm side. “I am cold blooded. Yet another side effect of being a dragon-man. It bothers me little when I take the form of the beast, for my scales keep me warm enough, but as a man, I’m exposed to the elements”

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out to tuck the woolen blanket more snugly around Crowley’s shoulders. It felt very good to have the slender, shivering man pressed against him. Too good. He focused his eyes on the fire in front of him as he felt Crowley’s shivers slow and stop. Soon, the other man was asleep, his head lolling against Aziraphale’s shoulder. The long day’s ride had taken its toll on Aziraphale as well, and he felt his eyelids drooping closed. He gently assisted a still sleeping Crowley to lie next to the fire, careful to lay him down on his good, left side, then hunkered down behind him, covering them both with the blanket. He curled his thick, warm body around Crowley’s slender form, wishing that he’d brought a pair of bedrolls with him. He’d been in too much of a rush to head south and had forgotten many useful things for his journey. But the leaves of the forest floor served well as a comfortable enough mattress, and he’d given Crowley a pair of woolen socks to wear. He pulled Crowley’s new coat over the top of their blanket for added warmth and after a moment’s hesitation, wrapped his free arm around Crowley’s waist and pulled him a little tighter against Aziraphale’s body. 

The other man did not wake, though he made a soft sound in his throat and sighed appreciatively at the close contact. Azriaphale could feel Crowley’s ribs rise and fall with his sleeping breath and Crowley’s mess of copper hair was in his face. He dared to press his nose into the profusion of dark copper curls and take a deep breath. My gods but he smelled good. Spicy and human and slightly of horse. Aziraphale drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips.

_________________________________________

He woke to find that Crowley had turned in his sleep and was now facing him, long legs intertwined with his own, long, lanky arm slung over Aziraphale’s waist, one side of his face pressed against Aziraphale's chest. 

Aziraphale froze, holding his breath for a moment as the reality of the situation pierced through his sleep addled mind. Crowley was wrapped up in his arms and pressed tightly against him, and though the other man was still asleep, a very obvious part of him was clearly quite awake. Aziraphale could feel a telltale hardness pressed against his upper thigh. Aziraphale was mortified to find that he was also quite aroused, almost painfully so. He’d likely become erect in his sleep, and now that he was awake, and could feel and smell the other man lying warmly in his arms like a lover… well… things were not getting any softer as it were. 

What was he to do? If he woke Crowley, he’d have a very uncomfortable situation on his hands. But if he continued to lay here much longer, he’d likely do something he regretted. He was already using all the will power he possessed not to pull Crowley closer, struggling to refrain from waking Crowley with kisses to his brow, struggling to keep from trailing those kisses lower to capture the man’s soft sleep drunk mouth. He was throbbing with desire in ways he hadn’t thought possible from his many years as a chaste priest, and he was completely unprepared for the feelings coursing through him. Utterly unprepared for what having Crowley this close, this beautiful, this warm and loose in his arms was doing to him. 

Thimble unfortunately made a decision for him. The horse could tell he was awake, and he nickered loudly in greeting, probably hoping for more dried fruit. Aziraphale felt Crowley stir against him at the sound, and he panicked. He disengaged from Crowley’s embrace as quickly as he could and swiftly staggered to his feet. Crowley blinked up at him blearily “wha?” he mumbled, clearly confused as to why he was suddenly colder than a moment ago, and why Aziaphale was standing over him, breathing heavily, with a wild look in his eyes and Crowley’s coat clutched in front of him to hide his erection. 

“Good morning!” Aziraphale said, far too loudly and rushed to tend to the fire, making sure his back was turned to Crowley. He heard the man groan softly as he sat up. 

He heard a chuckle from behind him and Crowley’s voice, still slurred with sleep say “My, I must have had a nice dream last night”

Aziraphale didn’t dare turn around to face him. He knew he must be a deep shade of red at this point, and that he still had his own erection to hide. One would think it would have subsided, what with the shame and embarrassment coursing through him, but no.. it was still stiff and strong as anything. He busied himself with brushing Thimble’s coat and tried to bring up mental images of deeply unattractive things to help himself out of this unfortunate state. “Oh” he responded, affecting a confused tone “well, that’s nice, I suppose”. 

“Is there breakfast? I’m starving. And I’d like my coat back if you would” Crowley said, voice strained from what was probably a languorous stretch, the mental image of which did nothing to cool Azirpahale’s ardor. Aziraphale, still using Crowley’s coat to cover the state he was in, walked stiffly over to where Crowley was now sitting up, his red hair charmingly disheveled, his face creased with the pattern of the leaf stems he’d slept against. Aziraphale swiftly tossed the coat in his direction before turning away again quickly and walking back over to Thimble, his cheeks still burning. 

“What’s gotten into you angel?” Crowley asked, his voice suddenly a bit concerned. 

“Nothing Crowley. And really, I wish you wouldn’t call me that. It’s not a proper way to refer to a priest.. Even if we are... friends” He knew his voice was stiff and cold, but he was dealing with several conflicting and unfamiliar emotions. The sound of Crowley calling him “angel” was a bit much for the state he found himself in. 

“Alright then” Crowley’s tone had grown cold as well. Luckily, this did the trick to finally calm his raging erection, but it hurt his heart to hear the confused hurt in Crowley’s voice. “I’ll simply call you ‘priest’ then, or would you rather ‘priest Aziraphale’? Or ‘ _ sir _ Aziraphale of the northern keep’? Whatever you prefer.”, the other man’s voice was tight.

Aziraphale sighed deeply and finally found the courage to turn and face Crowley, who sat looking at him crossly. “I’m sorry Crowley. I suppose I am just worried about bringing you home with me, and it’s made me crabby. I don’t mean to snap at you. You may call me whatever you wish.” What he’d wanted to say though was  _ You make me feel things that are not appropriate for a priest to feel, and I don’t know how to react. You make my head spin.  _

“Apology accepted.” Crowley said with a small grin. “Or at least.. It  _ will be  _ accepted if you give me some food to eat. Otherwise, I shall take a bite out of Thimble, and that won’t do” 

Soon they had eaten and remounted. They were only a day’s ride from home, and should reach the northern manor gates before nightfall. They stopped at the first of the northern towns they encountered to purchase a bit more food for their midday meal and to find a dress shop that would sell Aziraphale a dark veil that would cover Crowley’s eyes, while still allowing him to see. Once Aziraphale returned to where Crowley waited with the horse, they tried the veil on. It worked like a charm, covering the top half of Crowley’s face, serving the duel purpose of hiding his eyes from the world and shielding the sun from his eyes. And he could see through the veil easily. It was quite an elegant solution to their problem, and it made Crowley look very mysterious and dashing, with his black veil and long red hair. Aziraphale plated his hair for him into a dark copper braid to keep it out of the way. He really did look like a tragically deposed southern prince. Once they reached the manor house, Aziraphale could obtain some hair pins from his sisters in law to fix the veil in place, and perhaps a gold circlet to go atop the veil, to serve as reminder that Crowley was in fact royalty. Yes, that would do nicely. 

They chatted as they rode, Aziraphale telling Crowley all about his kingdom, the household, his brothers and their wives and children. He told him about the school he operated for the children, and how the manor house relied on a large staff of servants to help it operate. He told him of their holidays, Wintertide being the upcoming one to celebrate the gods of winter and to ask for safe passage through the coldest months. How the people baked special cakes, small and round ad sweetened with honey and festooned the hallways with pine bows and how there was a great feast and drinking and dancing through the night to celebrate. He spoke for hours, and Crowley listened with interest, knowing that not only were these tales interesting and a way to pass the time as they rode, but that the more Crowley knew of the northern lands, the better he would be able to fit in, the more likely they would be to accept him. It was school work as well as conversation.

He peppered Aziraphale with questions here and there. What were his brother’s names again? His sisters in law? The names of his favorite nieces and nephews? Which gods did one pray to at dinner time. Which on chapel days? What offerings went to which god? He was particularly interested in Liyurna, for she was the goddess who had urged Aziraphale to go south to rescue him from his plight. Aziraphale told him of how the goddess was the shelterer and protector of wild things, of beasts and birds and the hunt. But also a goddess of nature. Crowley said he would make sure to give her a gift and say a prayer to her when they reached the chapel, to show his appreciation for sending along his very own guardian angel. He clasped his arms a bit more tightly around Aziraphale’s middle, more than was strictly necessary to keep from falling off Thimble, and sighed, letting his cheek rest against Aziraphale’s upper back as they rode. 

Aziraphale told him of his friends in the village, of the Youngs and the Pulsifers and their children, Adam and little Abigail, and promised to take Crowley for a visit once they had settled in. He spoke of his journeys among the people and his wanderings through the town marketplace. How much he adored cooking and baking and how he was called upon often to help Cook in the kitchens to plan her meals. Crowley listened to it all with interest and patience, so much so that Aziraphale forgot to feel self conscious over how much he spoke about himself.

Soon, they were riding through familiar lands. It was dusk, and the people were just getting home to supper and so several villagers came up to their horse to ask where Aziraphale had been. They told him that the king and his family were distraught over Aziraphale’s absence and asked questions of where he’d gone. Aziraphale forestalled them with a wave of his hand and a promise that everything would be made clear later, along with a reassurance that he was fine and healthy. He didn’t introduce Crowley, though he received many curious glances. 

Eventually, they rounded a bend in the road and the manor house gates came to view before them. The great wooden gates were open to receive them, being that word had probably spread quickly from the surrounding villages that the priest had returned, with a friend in tow. Before Aziraphale could ride much closer, several of his nieces and nephews burst from the gates and came running down the road towards them, followed by their mothers, slowed down by their long skirts, who called out to them to be careful. 

“Uncle Ziraphale! Uncle Ziraphale!” they cried in a high pitched chorus. Aziraphale dismounted, and helped Crowley to dismount as well before turning and swooping two of the children (Katherine and her brother Peter) up in a big bear hug.

“Hello my darlings!” he exclaimed, holding them tight and fighting back tears “It is so very good to see you again!”

“Uncle Ziraphale!” Cried Katherine “we thought you ran away for good!” She was clinging to his arm now as if afraid to let him go, looking up at him with large dark eyes. 

“Who is this?” Asked Peter, always the curious one, as he looked over at Crowley, who stood shyly to the side, face half shrouded by the veil, seeming awkward and uncertain. 

“This is a new friend of mine” Aziraphale explained, just as his sisters in law reached them. 

“Aziraphale, it’s good to see you again” said Michael’s wife, Kristain. She approached and gave him a warm embrace, which took him a bit by surprise, as she’d never been particularly affectionate before. “And this is?..” she let the question hang in the air while pointedly looking back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley. 

“This is my friend, Prince Cr-”

“Prince Anthony of the southern kingdom my lady” Crowley cut Aziraphale off and stepped up smoothly, taking Kristain’s hand in his and bowing low. 

_ Prince Anthony? _ Aziraphale supposed Crowley would explain his name later. “Yes sister dear, this is the fabled banished prince of the southern kingdoms. We met on the road and he came back with me, to seek asylum from the enchanted lands of the south.”

“Oh my!” Kristain blushed as Crowley brought her hand to his lips and gave it a kiss. “It is a pleasure to meet you my lord” she curtsied deeply, then beckoned them up towards the house. “Come! You must be tired and sore from your journey. Mina, my lady Shara, we shall have to tell the servants to put out a feast to welcome our new guest!” 

Crowley bowed low as he greeted Uriel’s wife Mina and was presented to Shara, Gabriel’s wife and the northern queen. They too seemed quite charmed by his genteel manner and no one yet questioned his wearing of a veil. They probably assumed it was simply a southern custom, knowing as little as they did about the lands to the south. Aziraphale sent up a prayer of thanks for their ignorance. Aziraphale took Mina aside briefly and asked how Uriel was fairing. Her eyes shone happily as she told him that while he was still bedridden, that he was conscious and able to eat and drink and sit up to receive guests. That he’s been moved up to their shared rooms in the manor house. Aziraphale grinned broadly at the news and gave her hands a squeeze, happy to hear that his brother was on the mend. 

They approached the courtyard and were beset upon by yet more children, and servants and a few townspeople who’d come in to greet Aziraphale and welcome him home. He received many embraces and many warm pats on the back and Crowley was introduced to everyone, who seemed to accept him without question. 

Until they came to Gabriel and Michael. The two stood together, as if guarding the main doors of the manor house, faces like storm clouds, watching Aziraphale and Crowley make their way through the crowds of welcoming people. Eventually, Aziraphale stood before his brothers, Crowley hanging back a little behind his left shoulder. He bowed low to them both, and Crowley, following his lead did so as well. But, instead of allowing Aziraphale to introduce him, Crowley stepped up boldly, back straight and bearing regal and introduced himself. 

“Your highness” He intoned formally to Gabriel, “Prince Michael” he nodded respectfully at Michael. “I am Prince Anthony of the southern kingdoms. I come to humbly seek asylum from the evil priest Hastur who has corrupted my lands and has driven me out. May I shelter under your roof for a time?”

Aziraphale was impressed. Apparently, so were his brothers. They seemed taken aback by this strange, veiled man’s formal manner, but just like their wives, they appeared to swiftly write off his eccentricities as “strange southern ways”. 

Gabriel drew himself up in response to Crowley’s formal request “You may, Prince Anthony. We welcome you to the northern kingdoms. Please shelter under our roof as long as you need to” He then stepped forward and gripped Crowley by the forearms and pressed their brows together in a brotherly salute. 

Aziraphale let out a breath he’d been unaware he’d been holding, feeling relief surge through him. This was going better than he’d hoped. 

Gabriel turned his attention at last to his older brother. “Aziraphale, my brother. It is… good to see you again.” he sounded acutely uncomfortable with expressing himself so sentimentally, but his eyes gleamed with pride as he took Aziraphale’s arms in his hands and repeated the same touching of foreheads. 

“Thank you brother. It is good to be back” he replied. He supposed that absence did in fact make the heart grow fonder, for he’d never seen Gabriel this warm towards him. Or perhaps he was simply tired of dealing with his brood of five children when Aziraphale had left and school was no longer in session. 

“To the great hall!” Gabriel shouted, releasing his grip on Aziraphale and waving to the people who’d gathered around them. “Have the cook start up a feast for our new guest and to celebrate the return of our brother priest Aziraphale!” And with that, everyone rambled to the great dining hall for wine and food. 

Over plates of sliced meat and heaps of broiled potatoes and full cups of strong, dark wine, Aziraphale told the tale of how he was summoned south by the goddess Liyurna for some unknown purpose. How he had found Crowley (he referred to him as Prince Anthony of course) lying wounded by the mouth of the cave and had nursed him back to health. How Prince Anthony told him that he had succeeded in killing the dragon once and for all, and that the great beast had disappeared in a massive cloud of black smoke once he’d plunged a dagger into it’s sleeping eye. How unfortunately, the beast had let loose a final burst of hellish flame that had seared the prince’s eyes, leaving him disfigured and sensitive to the light. This neatly explained the veil, and the people nodded in dawning comprehension. 

Aziraphale’s brothers and their wives seemed enthralled by this tale. It made Aziraphale uncomfortable to lie to them, but he couldn’t tell them the truth, that he had in fact brought the dreaded beast back with him, in the form of a yellow eyed, flame haired man. And so he embellished the story with simple details, hoping to keep the lie as easy to remember as possible. Crowley spoke up eventually and told them all very truthful stories of how his uncle, the priest Hastur had corrupted the southern lands, and how they’d banished Crowley under threat of death for daring to challenge the evil priest. How he had headed north, to at least see if he could dispatch the beast, finding it near death in its cave, and how he’d finished the job, but had nearly died in the process. 

This story was greatly appealing to Gabriel and Michael, who looked at Crowley with newfound respect. Conveniently, the dragon had evaporated into a dark mist at the moment of his death, and so there was no way to produce a decapitated head as proof of its demise, but Aziraphale attested as well that the beast had been truly dead and gone. They were instantly believed. 

There was much toasting and much drinking and much cheering. Crowley ate heartily of the food and drank several cups of wine, and Aziraphale enjoyed watching him, his face flushed, his smiling mouth, visible below the edge of the veil, looking well and healthy and happy. 

As the night wore on, and some of the more inebriated members of the court were sagging in their seats, Aziraphale rose and announced that it was time for he and his friend the prince to retire. He refused the offer to have a spare bedroom in the manor house made up for Crowley, saying that he still needed to tend to the princes’ wounds. 

Crowley agreed, saying that he felt more comfortable staying in the chapel with Aziraphale, being that Aziraphale had a guest bedroom in his small suite of rooms, and the priest had experience with tending to his injuries. The two bid everyone good night and made their way out to the chapel in the darkness. 

The instant they were alone, Crowley leaned against Aziraphale, his breath smelling of wine, to whisper in his ear. “They seem to believe our story priest” he said “I think I’ll be safe here, don’t you?”

“Yes” Aziraphale replied, nodding. “Yes, you shall be certainly. You did a fantastic job telling your tale of what transpired with the dragon. Quite believable.” 

“Thank you. You gave a good performance as well”

Once they’d climbed the steps to Aziraphale’s chambers, he turned to face Crowley “Anthony?” He asked, unable to hide the confusion and curiosity in his voice. 

“Yes” Crowley looked sheepish for a moment, pulling off his veil so that Aziraphale could see his yellow eyes glimmering in the candlelight of Aziraphale’s rooms. “I was born Prince Anthony of the southern kingdoms. Crowley is a name I took for myself as a dragon. Anthony felt too human, too fanciful a name for the scaly beast I’d become. And so I called myself Crowley. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. The name Anthony always causes me a bit of pain, but I couldn’t very well introduce myself as ‘Crowley’ to your family.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I think Anthony is a lovely name,” he said shyly. “But I am used to Crowley. Which do you prefer?”   
  


“I prefer Crowley” the scarlet haired man said with a small smile. “But around your family, you should probably just call me ‘Anthony’ or ‘your highness’”

“Yes, and you should call me, ‘priest Aziraphale’ or simply ‘Aziraphale’. I’m not sure ‘angel’ will go over well.”

Crowley grinned at him “Alright then angel”

“Alright Crowley” Aziraphale grinned back. There was a long moment of silence while they looked at one another. 

“I’ll need to make you up a bed” Aziraphale said, needing to say something to break the awkward silence. “I’ll fetch you new linens from the closet. Back in a moment”

He hurried to gather up some sheets and a down pillow for Crowley as well as a thick woolen blanket. He was looking forward to spending a night in a real bed, under a real roof, comfortable and safe. He was unused to rough travel, and spending four nights, or was it five? Under the open skies, had him missing his soft mattress and down filled pillow. It had been over three decades however since Crowley had slept in a bed, and he wanted the experience to be as comfortable as possible. He swiftly and expertly made up the bed and added an extra pillow, so that everything was cozy. 

He returned to his room to see Crowley staring up at a painting of his mother that he’d had hung on a far wall, next to a painting of the northern countryside. “Is this your mother?” he asked as Aziraphale walked up next to him. 

“Yes” replied Aziraphale, joining him as he gazed up at the painting of the slender, blond haired woman with the light hazel eyes. People say that I take after her. Especially her coloring” he remarked. 

“Yes, you do look like her” Crowley remarked as his eyes roamed over the painting above them. “She is quite beautiful... Just like you” 

Aziraphale turned his gaze to Crowley’s face in surprise at the other man’s brazen compliment, and found Crowley looking back at him, his eyes luminous and unearthly in the light from the candles on Aziraphale’s bedside table. “Thank you” he breathed, his heart pounding in his ears. Crowley stepped closer to him, very close indeed, and took Aziraphale’s face in his long fingered hands. His yellow eyes, the black slits of his pupils blown wide in the semi-darkness of Aziraphale’s bedroom were locked with Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale forgot to breath for several seconds.

“I know I said thank you before” Crowley spoke softly into the small space between them. “But I feel I must say it again. You have done so much to help me, heal me and keep me safe. You could have killed me where I lay, in that blasted cave, but you didn’t. Instead you truly were my guardian angel. And for that, I owe you a great debt of gratitude. Thank you ...thank you..angel”

Then he leaned in and placed an achingly gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s brow. He pulled back quickly, keeping the kiss light and chaste, and yet Aziraphale felt hot tingles explode inside his lower belly at the contact of the other man’s soft lips against his skin. He longed to grab Crowley’s shoulders or his neck or wrap his fingers in Crowley’s soft hair and pull him back for more kisses, but to his mouth this time. He longed to take the lanky, red haired man into his bed and continue exploring his body with lips and hands. Oh how he  _ wanted _ . But he kept those feelings bottled up inside, instead nodding stiffly, giving Crowley a nervous grin. 

“You don’t owe me anything Crowley” he replied, feeling his cheeks burning as Crowley pulled his hands away and stepped back. “It was the right thing to do. I only wish I could have come sooner. That you hadn’t had to languish there for so long”

“What’s in the past is in the past” Crowley said, his voice sad and weary. “I am glad to be here now. It’s best to focus on that.”

Aziraphale had nothing else to say, and so he went to ask a servant to bring up two basins of heated water, so that Crowley and he could wash up after their journey. He closed the door to his room and stripped, using a soft, clean cloth to wash away the dirt and sweat from the road, and then dunked his head and scrubbed at his hair. 

He waited several minutes and then knocked on the door to Crowley’s room, not wanting to intrude. Crowley called him in, and he swung the door open and almost lost his breath again at the sight of the other man, cleaned and dressed in a nightgown, sitting on the edge of his bed. His hair was a shining dark copper color, and it fell in damp curls his shoulders. His skin, now that it was truly clean, gleamed like marble in contrast to his dark dressing gown. He was truly a thing of beauty. Aziraphale took a deep breath, struggling valiantly to keep the awe and desire he felt from showing in his expression. 

Crowley turned to look at him as he entered and a bright smile broke out over his face. Aziraphale could not help but smile back. “All clean and well ordered then are we?” he asked, feeling awkward in the face of Crowley’s stunning looks. 

“Your hair” Crowley said, his tone hushed and reverent, his yellow eyes shining as they took in Aziraphale’s appearance. He was clothed in a white dressing gown, his hair disheveled from being dried off. “It looks like a halo” Crowley breathed. “It’s like spun gold. Like sunshine” 

Aziraphale felt himself blushing furiously at the dragon-man’s words. “Oh.. it’s quite ugly, I assure you. I’ve been informed as much by my brothers. In the north, as in the south, dark hair is considered very beautiful. My bright white tresses were always cause for mockery and derision as a child.” 

“No angel. No. It makes you look… well, it makes you glow.” Crowley said. Unsure of what to say in response, Azirapale asked if he could help with another change of Crowley’s wounds, and the red haired man accepted. 

Unfortunately, the night gowns they were wearing did not button up the front. One had to pull them on (or off) over one’s head. Aziraphale suggested draping a blanket over Crowley’s lap to cover his lower body while he took off the gown, but the man merely laughed at his northern modestly and pulled the article of clothing up and off, leaving himself utterly nude.    
  
“We have no concerns about the naked body in the south. It is far too hot for everyone to be completely covered all the time” he explained, but Aziraphale had already turned away, face hot, breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Crowley’s lanky body, nude and glowing in the light of the candle sconces by his bed. 

“Come now angel” he teased at Aziraphale’s back as the priest resolutely stood, facing away from Crowley. “You’ve seen me naked before”

“Please cover yourself so that I may help you with your bandages” Aziraphale croaked out. “I am a priest, and we are not to look upon... naked flesh. It’s written in our religious codices. I only did so in the cave because it was a matter of life and death. Here in the manor house, it… it is not allowed.”

He was only telling a half truth. The religious texts said that priests “must not look upon flesh when it causes lust”, which was far different than looking upon flesh that did not. Aziraphale had assisted in a few of the births Anathema attended. He had helped to change the bandages on his father’s wounds when the old man had lay dying in his bed from his injuries in battle. He was close to being a physic in his own right, were he able to bare the stitching or cutting of flesh. 

Aziraphale however stayed far away from the naked bodies of handsome men. Priests were not allowed to take anyone to their bed. Lustful imaginings and sexual acts were supposed to sever their deeper connection with the gods. This had been a simple thing for Aziraphale to avoid. 

Until now. 

He heard Crowley sigh behind him, and heard a brief rustle of bedclothes. “Fine then” the man said with a resigned tone. “I’ve covered up my  _ flesh _ ”, the sarcasm in his voice was hard to miss, and there was something else there. Could it be disappointment? Resentment?

Aziraphale turned around to see that Crowley had indeed pulled the bed covers over his lap, which hid his nether regions and legs, but of course did nothing to cover the silky expanse of his chest and long flat stomach and lean, muscled arms. Aziraphale knew this was the best this situation was likely to get, so he took a deep breath and set about his work, changing Crowley’s bandages to fresh ones from the store that he kept in his cabinet for emergency cuts and bruises (children were prone to them).

He still had to struggle to control his feelings as he worked. Struggle to focus on the task of peeling away the bandages from the now pink and mostly healed cut in Crowley’s side and in his shoulder. He did not have materials to make a new poultice, and it was hardly necessary at this point, and so he simply placed fresh clean cloth to the wounds and wrapped them around Crowley’s chest and shoulder to hold them in place. His finger tips brushed against the man’s smooth, silky skin as he worked and he swallowed down the urge to touch more of him. To kiss that skin beneath his hands. 

Once he’d finished, he got up immediately, saying “You shan’t need any more bandages by tomorrow I’d say. You look almost completely healed.. Though you’ll bear scars.”

“Every prince should have a few scars” Crowley replied, his voice somewhat muffled as he pulled the nightshirt back over his head. Aziraphale breathed a small sigh of relief to have the man’s tempting body covered up again. 

“Well, goodnight then” Aziraphale spat out hurriedly, and with a swift nod, he left Crowley’s room to go back to his own. He only had the time to see the surprised expression, tinged with confusion on Crowley’s face as he turned to leave. 

“Goodnight” the other man echoed gently after him as he left.

Soon Aziraphale was in his own bed and his candles were extinguished. He lay there in the darkness, his mind whirred with memories of his journey, of meeting Crowley, of helping him to heal and of all the time they’d spent together. His body was frustratingly still sparking with lust from being close to Crowley’s near naked body and of touching his skin. He knew that his cock was stiff and throbbing, though he dare not touch it. If he did, it wouldn’t take long to stroke himself to thoughts of Crowley’s long, lanky body atop his own, his lips on Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale rarely pleasured himself, only doing so when persistent erections got in the way of his ability to focus on his work. And this had usually happened a decade or more prior, when he’d been a younger man. 

And never before had a man aroused such ardor as the flame haired dragon-man in the next room. His feelings for Crowley were becoming a problem for him. The fact that Crowley was a fugitive in these lands, and that if Gabriel and his brothers found out who he really was, that they’d likely try to kill or imprison him did not help with his sense that his connection to this mysterious man was sinful or wrong. 

Still, the knowledge that priests were not to take lovers, the knowledge that Crowley was mixed up in all sorts of political unrest.. None of this meant anything when Aziraphale thought of Crowley’s exotic yellow eyes and long red hair. Of his pale skin and soft lips and elegant, long fingered hands. The hands that just an hour or so ago had framed his face. The lips that had so tenderly kissed his brow in thanks for all he’d done for Crowley. 

Aziraphale moaned and gripped himself firmly over the covers, gasping at how good it felt to give some small friction to his aching cock. He rubbed his hand over himself, thrusting his hips up against the flat palm of his hand while he pictured Crowley’s naked body up against his in the bed. Pictured Crowley’s hot mouth burning wetly against the tender skin of Aziraphale’s throat. It didn’t take long for him to explode in a sharply intense orgasm, his hips shuddering, his breath escaping his open mouth in soft gasps, as he struggled not to cry out. He’d made a mess of his bed clothes, but he’d see to that tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he’d see Crowley again, and the day after that, and the day after that for gods knew how long. As the waves of intense pleasure ebbed and fell away, and as sleep reached up to pull him under, he pictured Crowley’s smiling face, and drifted off to the memory of Crowley’s musical laugh. 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, they woke and dressed, Aziraphale once again in the white alb of the manor priest, Crowley in new clothes bought for him the night before, that fit him far better than Aziraphale’s. He looked very dashing in his new dark hose and black woolen doublet. Queen Shara had made sure to gift Crowley with a thin gold circlet to wear about his head to mark him as visiting royalty. Aziraphale procured a few hair pins from one of the scullery maids and this, with the circlet, helped keep Crowley’s veil firmly in place. He looked like a mysterious southern prince in every possible way. Aziraphale tried not to stare. 

They went down to breakfast and ate quail’s eggs and (Crowley ate) pork and drank strong tea with the court. To Aziraphale’s surprise and delight, Uriel joined them. He limped in on a wooden crutch, looking thin and tired but rosy cheeked and quite alive. Aziraphale greeted him warmly and was rewarded with a rare smile from his usually grumpy brother. “They told me that you helped get me through the worst of this, that you nursed me back to health” Uriel said, eyes down cast as Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders in greeting. “Thank you brother”.

These simple words were high praise from Uriel. Aziraphale nodded, smiling awkwardly at this rare affirmation. 

Uriel was introduced to Crowley and the two bowed to each other. If Crowley was uncomfortable or disconcerted over meeting a man whom he’d wounded in battle only days before, he gave no sign of it. Though with his eyes hidden, it was hard to tell. 

They sat and ate and talked companionably for a while, as Mina and Shara peppered Crowley with questions about the southern court. Crowley smoothly made up a story of being banished to the outskirts of his lands and of living alone in a hut, saying that priest Hastur had threatened the people that to speak to Crowley, to aid him or befriend him was punishable with death. It was a simple tale, and mostly true, being that Crowley  _ had _ ended up banished to a far off place and had been isolated from all human contact. 

Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder and bowed to Crowley in greeting, before launching into a story of how he and his men had wounded the fearsome beast, and how Crowley had bravely entered its cave to finish it off. Again, Aziraphale worried that Crowley would take insult at the turn the conversation had taken, but he only smiled behind his veil and took small bites of pork roast and egg and drank his tea as Gabriel spoke. On the upside, it appeared that Gabriel not only had a healthy respect for Crowley as a fellow prince, but that he had lightened up in his attitudes towards Aziraphale as well. He seemed warmer and more respectful of Aziraphale than he ever had before. Perhaps because he admired Aziraphale’s rash decision to travel south without a plan or any aid. It was something Gabriel himself would have done. 

After breakfast, Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the village to visit Aziraphale’s friends. They stopped first at the Young’s house, where Aziraphale introduced Crowley. Adam rushed out to hug Aziraphale around the middle and to hurl questions at him about where he’d gone and what had happened. Dierdre and Arthur had bowed deeply to Crowley and welcomed him in to have some newly brewed ale and sit by the fire to chat. 

Afterwards, the went to Newt and Anathema’s house and Crowley held little Abigail, careful that her small, grasping hands did not lift his veil. The four of them sat down to eat a small lunch of beef stew and homemade bread (Aziraphale simply having double servings of bread) and to talk of Aziraphale and Crowley’s adventures. Aziraphale grinned as he watched Crowley speak of how he’d been rescued by Aziraphale. Anathema kept shooting strange looks his way, looks he could not decipher, until she pulled him aside as they were leaving the Pulsifers.

“Forgive me dear Aziraphale” she began, gripping his arm and grinning impishly at him “I know it is not my place, but we have been friends for many years, and.. Well, could it be that you are a bit besotted with your prince friend?” Anathema was one of the few people Aziraphale had spoken honestly to about his desires for other men. She had seemed so open and caring that it was easy to talk to her about such things without fear that she would tell other townspeople, or reject him for it. Their friendship had developed to the level where she didn’t speak to him as if he were royalty, or a priest. But just as a friend. 

Aziraphale looked down shyly, then back up into her shining eyes “yes my dear. It appears I am quite taken with him. But please don’t say anything about it. I am a man of the gods and such things are not mine to have”. 

Anathema looked sad for a moment before she pulled him into a warm embrace. “I know dear priest, dear friend. I know”. She released him and stood to watch them depart, Newt’s arm around her shoulder, his other arm around his infant daughter holding her on his hip. 

Aziraphale took Crowley to the market, introducing him to the many vendors and craftsmen he knew and the two spent a pleasant afternoon admiring their wares and talking of the weather and other simple things with the people of the market. Everyone seemed very taken with Crowley, which made Aziraphale happy. It would help with the keeping up of Crowley’s story of being a deposed prince, and would win him favor with the kingdom in general to be liked by its people. 

The day took a dark turn when they rounded a corner in the market and came face to face with the black clad widow of one of the men Crowley had killed. She bowed deeply and kissed Aziraphale’s hand and did the same to Crowley, praising him for the destruction of “that awful monster” and there were tears in her eyes. Aziraphale should not have been surprised that she already knew the story of Crowley’s entry into the northern court. Many in the village had friends and family who worked as servants in the manor house, and news traveled fast. After she left, Crowley grew silent, his mouth below the veil pressed into a grim line. Aziraphale did not know what to say to console him, and so he kept his silence. 

As he looked around at the wares for sale on the wooden tables about the market, he began to get an idea, a glimmer of a plan, and so he set about buying a few items, some thin, bendable metal wire (used to bind spearheads to their shafts) and some thin, dark glass (usually broken into shards and used to create beautiful religious mosaics for the chapel or for the people’s makeshift altars to the gods. 

They returned to the manor house as the sun was setting. Crowley’s mood seemed to have improved since their run in with the widow, and he chatted with Aziraphale about the differences in their kingdoms and made small observances of the things he’d liked in the market. It took all of Aziraphale’s will power not to rush back and buy him everything he fancied. 

They ate dinner in the hall that night. Uriel was in attendance, though Gabriel and Michael were ensconced in their rooms, going over plans for their next political campaign to broker a new trade agreement with the eastern kingdoms for the purchase of salted fish. 

After dinner, Aziraphale excused himself briefly while Crowley napped in the other room, and worked on his project with the wire and the glass. He used a small pair of jewelers pliers and a few well placed spells, and within an hour or so, he was finished. He waited until he heard Crowley stirring next door and knocked gently at the door that separated their rooms. 

“Come in angel” Crowley mumbled. “My but I seem to be in need of more sleep than usual” he remarked, sitting up in bed, dark red hair rumpled, face creased from his recent nap. 

“You’ve been through a lot Crowley” Aziraphale reminded him. “Your body is still healing”. 

He sat next to Crowley on the bed, making sure to keep a few feet between them and turned to face him, a small, cloth wrapped bundle in his hands. “I’ve made you something that I think might help with your eyes” he said, suddenly shy. 

Crowley took the bundle from him and gently pulled back the cloth to reveal a pair of smooth, dark ovals of tinted glass, held together by thin wire frames. There were wires extending from the sides of the glass ovals, with hooks on the end, and Aziraphale showed Crowley how to loop those hooks over his ears and to settle the wire frame on top of his nose so that the dark glass ovals covered his eyes neatly. 

Crowley’s face broke into a bright smile as he realized what Aziraphale had wrought. “Oh these are wonderful!” he exclaimed “however did you make them?” he took the glasses off again and looked wonderingly at them, turning them this way and that. 

“With a few magic spells and some pliers” replied Aziraphale simply. “I am no craftsman, but the veil seemed a bit of an inconvenience, so I thought I would help by giving you another way to cover your eyes.” He grinned at Crowley’s obvious joy over receiving this impromptu gift. He thought perhaps he could watch Crowley smiling face for hours. 

“Thank you angel” Crowley replied reverently, gently placing the lenses back on his face. They hid his eyes perfectly, and were dark enough that no one could see through them, while being opaque enough for Crowley to see out and to guard his eyes from bright sunshine. After a moment, he removed his glasses again and carefully placed them on the bedside table. Then, without warning, he lurched forward, closing the space between them and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth. Aziraphale let out a surprised squeak and sucked in a sharp breath through his nose at the feel of Crowley’s soft lips colliding clumsily with his own. 

Crowley pulled back swiftly, regarding Aziraphale with a look that said he was just as surprised by his actions as Aziraphale was. “I’m sorry” he said “I couldn’t help myself”. There was a long moment spent staring at each other, while Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his ears. When he didn’t protest or move to leave, Crowley swiftly shifted closer and kissed Aziraphale again, this time with purpose, winding his long fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. 

Aziraphale was helpless to do anything but kiss him back. He swiftly wrapped his arms around Crowley and opened his mouth, welcoming the velvety-wet feel of Crowley’s questing tongue. His kisses were causing sparks and tingles of desire to bloom sharply in Aziraphale’s lower belly, and he moaned into Crowley’s mouth at the intensity of it. He heard Crowley make an answering noise, a low groan of passionate longing and then they were lying on the bed and Crowley was on top of Aziraphale, and the kiss had become a desperate thing. 

Azirpahale let his hands roam hungrily over Crowley’s back and arms and down to grip his narrow waist, and then Crowley moved his hips,  _ slowly thrust _ his pelvis against Aziraphale and  _ oh dear gods in heaven _ . Aziraphale roughly rolled them over until he was on top of Crowley, needing to feel him fully, and unable to stop the motion of his body under the onslaught of Crowley’s soft wet kisses, he was thrusting down, urgently against the hardness he felt straining beneath Crowley’s hose. He heard Crowley groan anew against his mouth, and felt Crowley’s fingers scrabbling at the bottom edges of his alb, trying to get his hands against Aziraphale’s bare skin. Without thinking Aziraphale’s own hands greedily forced their way up under Crowley’s doublet to splay his fingers over the silky skin of Crowley’s stomach. 

Then suddenly, his blatantly forward touch woke him up to what he was doing, to where this was going. It was as if he pulled himself out of a fevered dream, and the harsh, cold reality of the situation hit him like a cold bucket of water to the face. 

He was a  _ priest _ . 

He froze and pulled back from Crowley’s lips, gasping for breath, gazing down into a dazed pair of bright yellow eyes. “I… I can’t do this” he breathed, watching as his words caused a wary sort of pain to bloom in Crowley’s eyes and hating himself for it. “Crowley. I’m a man of the chapel. A man of the gods. I.. I am not  _ allowed _ .”

Crowley’s eyes were fierce now, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this.” he hissed into the space between their open mouths. “Tell me you don’t want me angel. Tell me you haven’t thought of this as much as I have”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and breathed deeply, struggling to regain control of his lust-mad senses.  _ Of course _ he’d thought about this. He’d thought about it almost ceaselessly since he’d first gotten a good look at Crowley’s face by the fire in the mouth of that cave. He wanted nothing more than to to pull Crowley’s clothing off in a frenzied rush, to let his greedy hands and his hungry mouth roam over Crowley’s soft skin. But he’d made a vow when he became a priest. A vow to be his people’s conduit to the gods. To help and to heal and to beseech the gods for aid. He couldn’t do that if he engaged in pleasures of the flesh. Even pleasures as tempting as Crowley’s slender body, trapped beneath his own, hot and willing and hard with want. He must remain a pure vessel through which the god’s gifts and needs and messages could enter the world of mortal man. 

With an act of iron will, he slowly disengaged himself from Crowley’s embrace and clammered off the bed. He stood for a moment, eyes cast down at the floor, still breathless and burning from what they’d just been doing. He was unable to look directly at Crowley, feeling a deep pang of sadness and disappointment, and his arms already felt cold and empty without Crowley’s warm body inside them. “I’m so sorry Crowley” He said. “So very sorry. I shouldn’t have let you… I shouldn’t have done what I did. I am weak, and I fear I have led you on”. 

“Angel” Crowley’s voice held a pleading note that tore at Aziraphale’s heart. “Angel, don’t push me away. You know there is something between us. Something strong and real and good. Don’t.. Don’t pull away. Please”

“I’m sorry Crowley” it was all Aziraphale could say, and with that, he turned and left, shutting the door between their rooms and hurrying down to the chapel. He needed to pray, to absolve himself of these lustful feelings and the yearning in his heart to be closer to this maddeningly handsome man. 

He went immediately to the altar of the goddess Liyurna, the one who had sent him on this quest and knelt down, clasping his hands and praying fervently for her to forgive him for his sins.  _ I am sorry goddess. I am sorry. I have been weak. I have felt lust. I beg you to forgive my weak flesh. I beg you, I beg you. _

To his dismay, he could sense nothing from the goddess. He could not feel her energy moving above the altar like he normally did. She was silent. 

Had his actions already severed his connection with his beloved gods? Had the moment of heated passion in Crowley’s arms been enough to lose him favor with Liyurna? He felt frustrated tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. 

A warm hand descending to rest on his shoulder shook him out of his anguished thoughts. He looked up into dark circles of tinted glass. Crowley, his face unreadable, new glasses in place, stood looking down at him where he knelt by the altar. 

“I’m sorry Aziraphale” he said gravely, and Aziraphale felt a small jolt of pain over the missing nickname. “I didn’t fully realize how important your vocation was for you. Our priests do not have to swear a vow of chastity. I let my desire for you erase the things you said about refraining from physical love.”

Aziraphale got to his feet and stood facing Crowley, but kept his eyes cast down, not wanting Crowley to see the depths of sadness and of something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to face, reflected in his tearful eyes. “It’s fine Crowley” he replied sorrowfully. “You did nothing wrong”

“But I did” insisted Crowley, letting his hand drop from Aziraphale’s shoulder, the place where his hand had been feeling suddenly cold and empty to Aziraphale. “I pushed where I shouldn’t have and I won’t do it again.” His voice was sad and resigned and Aziraphale ached to correct him, to reassure him that wanted Crowley to touch him, wanted so very badly to be close to him. But he kept silent, kept his eyes cast down, nodding in false agreement and hating himself for it.

“I’ll leave you be from now on” Crowley said softly. “I’ll keep my distance, I promise” and Aziraphale felt his heart breaking in his chest at the gentle sadness in Crowley’s tone. “But.. “ he continued, hope blooming in his voice “I’d still like to remain your good friend. We have been through quite a lot together you and I, in the brief time I’ve known you, and… and I don’t have any other friends. I’d count myself blessed to be yours”

Aziraphale felt tears fill his eyes and tumble slowly down his cheeks at Crowley’s words. He finally looked up into Crowley’s unreadable, shrouded eyes, scrubbing swiftly at his tears with the sleeves of his alb.

“I’d very much like that as well Crowley” he said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. “I would also consider myself blessed to be your friend”. He bowed to Crowley deeply, as if to seal their pact of friendship, and Crowley bowed back. They stood a bit awkwardly then, unable to quite look at eachother, until Aziraphale broke the silence and asked if Crowley would like a tour of the manor house. He could not bring himself to part ways with the other man for the evening just yet, but could not stand to be alone in their rooms together either. Crowley readily agreed, also seeming grateful to have something constructive to do. 

And so Aziraphale swallowed down his guilt and his fear and brushed aside the deep regret he felt over pushing Crowley away and the two walked down to the manor house proper, so that Aziraphale could show Crowley around. He took him first to the kitchens, where cook was cleaning up from their dinner. He introduced him to the staff of people who tended the kitchens, who helped cook by chopping vegetables, stirring pots, defeathering chickens and the like. They all grinned happily at having a chance to meet the mysterious Prince Anthony in person. Next it was to the stables, where they stopped in on Thimble and the other horses. Aziraphale insisted that Crowley pet the horses on their velvety noses and get them used to his scent. And Crowley was surprised that when accompanied by Aziraphale’s soft words and reassuring touches to their necks, that the horses did not shy away when he reached out to gently stroke the palm of his hand down their long faces and over their soft noses. 

They talked as they walked about the castle. It was night time, close to the time when most people settled in and got ready for bed, and so the hallways were less crowded than during the day. Crowley told Aziraphale about the castle where he’d grown up. How the doorways were covered with opaque hanging curtains so that air could move freely between rooms. How they had a large, open courtyard filled with green plants, how there were lush gardens, filled with tiger lillies and orchids that perfumed the warm air. Aziraphale was enchanted by his descriptions. Such decadence and warmth was hard to picture as they walked down the long, wooden walled and stone floored hallways of the northern manor house, draped with thick tapestries to help retain the heat. 

Crowley also spoke of their own gods, who were far less in number. Their version of Liyurna was Galeena, earth mother. Together, she and her god-husband Thornbal, were the two main gods the southern people prayed to. There was also a dark god, named Lucien, god of dark magic and destruction who was to be avoided and guarded against, and he feared that his uncle Hastur had begun praying to this dark god, as well as practicing dark magic. Only those with ill intent prayed to Lucien. Those who wished to enact revenge or to kill for impure reasons sacrificed to the dark god to gain dark powers. Children were warned away from talk of the dark god from infancy, but the god still existed. He was a necessary part of the southern people’s mythology. The dark side of the moon. The dark side of human nature. 

Aziraphale listened with interest as Crowley talked, as they walked down the many hallways and through the many open rooms of House Fell.

They ended up in the library, where Aziraphale showed Crowley his favorite books. Adventure stories and books on astronomy and history and books about healing herbs. 

“Your library is quite impressive” remarked Crowley, his eyes behind the dark shades looking up at the rows upon rows of shelves on the upper floor of the great room. 

“Thank you” Aziraphale replied “I made it myself.” Crowley turned to regard him with surprise and he swiftly amended what he’d said. “I mean that I collected most of these books over the course of my life. Some were here when I was a child, but most I sent for from around the world, or found or bought from traveling tinkers and people in the market. After a time, once the villagers of the kingdom heard how much I loved books and reading, the people started to send me books when they found them.. For safekeeping as it were.” He smiled at Crowley self consciously. “Once a month we allow the public, the people of nearby villages to come into the library to read for the day. My brothers were very against it, but I convinced them that their people must have access to new knowledge in order to be truly free”. 

“The people must love you” Crowley remarked, looking away from Aziraphale at a book he’d plucked from a nearby shelf, but his voice was soft and full of something hard to identify. 

“I suppose they do” Aziraphale responded, feeling shy. “But if they do, it is only because of how much I love them.” 

“It is late and I think I need to sleep” Crowley remarked, still not looking at Aziraphale as he placed the book he’d been looking at back on the shelf. Aziraphale could see that it was a book of love poetry from the west. 

“Yes. Let us retire to our rooms then” he said, leading Crowley back out of the library and across the stone courtyard, back to the chapel. 

They said goodnight stiffly, unsure of how to treat one another after the events earlier that evening, and Aziraphale shut the door between them with a heavy heart. He supposed though that having Crowley as a dear friend was good. He felt compelled to be close to the other man, and if it were not allowed for them to share a bed, then they could surely share adventures and conversations and thoughts and feelings could they not? Friendship was a beautiful thing. It would have to be enough. 

_______________________________________________

As the weeks went by, and he and Crowley spent many hours together, talking, walking in the market together, rambling through the forest trails looking for herbs and mushrooms, it did for a time feel like it was enough. Aziraphale suppressed his many urges to touch Crowley. To kiss him and pull him close, and instead devoted himself to getting to know the man who a few short weeks ago had been a mysterious stranger. Now after they’d lived side by side and spent much of their days together, he knew Crowley far better than he might have ever known anyone outside of his mother. 

On sunny days, Crowley taught Aziraphale archery in a field, aiming at a straw target propped against a tree, Aziraphale trying not to be so strongly affected by Crowley stepping behind him to help him place his hands on the bow and the strings correctly. He also started teaching Aziraphale the rudiments of what he remembered of swordplay from when he was a young man. He said “I want you to be able to protect yourself, should the south ever decide to invade, or should you ever need to.” Aziraphale had scoffed at him, but had practiced nonetheless, parrying and blocking with a wooden practice sword, looking a bit incongruous in his priests alb and pale woolen coat.

__________________________________

Often they rambled through the village, talking to the marketplace vendors and visiting the Youngs and the Pulsifers, who also grew to know and like Crowley. Every time Aziraphale saw Anathema, she’d give him a sad, knowing look when she saw how he’d gaze at Crowley when Crowley wasn’t aware of it. 

_______________________________________________________

During the hours that Aziraphale taught the children or held audience with his parishioners, Gabriel would sometimes ask Crowley to join he and Michael and Uriel in military plans. They were hatching a plot to travel south and depose the priest Hastur, and Crowley’s input was essential to their success. And so on those days, Crowley joined the other men to tell them about the construction of his palace, (what he could remember, as much may have changed in the three decades since he’d been banished). Aziraphale would stay away from these meetings, for he knew his presence would be laughed at. He was a man of the gods, not a soldier, nor a prince, But Crowley always filled him in afterwards on how the plan was progressing. They (for Crowley said he needed to accompany them) planned to ride south with a small complement of men and find a secret passage into the castle, smuggling Crowley and two of Gabriel’s best hand to hand fighters in to dispatch the priest. It was a dangerous plan, and Aziraphale feared greatly for Crowley’s safety as he heard more of its details come about. But he knew that this evil priest must be dealt with somehow, and Crowley was the only one who knew him personally, and knew the castle inside and out. 

He also worried that should Hastur spot Crowley, if he recognized the prince, then Crowley’s cover would be blown. They were at dual purposes through all of this planning. Firstly to take down Hastur, but secondly, Aziraphale and Crowley had to keep his people from finding out that their new friend, this mysterious prince they liked and respected was also the scaled beast, the great southern worm who had killed three of their men and wounded prince Uriel. 

In any case, the plan was to wait through winter and move south when the roads thawed enough for travel. 

________________________________________

On days of cold rain, snow or sleet, which were numerous in the north, they sat in the library and read. It was pleasing in the extreme to Aziraphale that Crowley, while not an avid reader, enjoyed reading an adventure tale or perusing a book on astronomy while Aziraphale delved into herb lore and ancient religious texts. Some days, they were joined by a few of the manor children, and Crowley delighted them by reading out loud, making funny voices to go along with the different characters in the adventure stories he liked. The children were quickly enamored of this strange new friend of their uncle’s. Aziraphale was silently delighted at how the children were taking to Crowley.

“Look here” Aziraphale said one day, pulling Crowley’s attention away from his book on the adventures of a great northern explorer he’d started reading the week before. “This is a book on western religions, on the gods of the west, and it seems that just like your people, the people of my mother’s country had a goddess similar to our goddess Liyurna. Her name was “Lisorna” and she too was the goddess of wild things.”

“And why would that be strange angel?” Crowley asked, barely pulling his attention away from the pages of his book, where he was quite engrossed at the moment. He’d absently started calling Aziraphale by the fond pet name again a few days after they’d kissed on his bed, and it always made something warm bloom deep inside Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Well. My mother never spoke of her, Lisorna that is, preferring to take on our northern customs and to avoid bringing up the gods of her own people. But she did say that westerners had very close relationships with their gods, that many of them were direct descendents of the gods from the days when they would roam the earth and take human lovers. So I was wondering if this was the same deity.. And if so, why mother never spoke her name, even to me.”

“Huh” Crowley grunted, then returned to his book, clearly not utterly enthralled with Aziraphale’s musings. 

Aziraphale sighed and went back to his book as the cold rain fell outside the high clouded glass windows in the library. His mother had been a secretive woman, and he often regretted not pressing her for more stories of the west. To share the worship of the same gods would be a strong glue that could further bind the north to the west. Relations as they stood now were civil, but the kingdoms had a history of warfare, going back hundreds of years. Would it not be better to talk openly about their shared religious beliefs? 

  
  
  


______________________________________

Sometimes, at night, when Aziraphale was safe under his covers and the candles and lanterns that lit his rooms were extinguished, he let himself think of Crowley in ways he knew he shouldn’t. Let his mind wander to the kiss they’d shared, to the ways they’d touched each other. The memory was burned into his brain like a hot brand, and it resurfaced on nights when he’d had a particularly good day with Crowley. When the man’s laugh and his long pale neck and his wicked smile haunted Aziraphale’s mind and made his body come alive with desire. He couldn’t help but touch himself then, quietly and quickly thrusting into his clenched his fist and coming with muted gasps so that he wouldn’t be overheard by the object of his passions who lay in the next room. On nights like these, his friendship with Crowley felt like a prison. He swiftly forgot the long conversations and trading of stories and shared experiences, and all he wanted to do was to climb into Crowley’s bed and take the flame haired man into his greedy arms. To kiss him and touch him in ways he truly wanted to, instead of keeping himself carefully distant like he had now for weeks. 

The feelings eventually passed, and the next morning, in the clear, new light of a winter day, he could return to being Crowley’s companion. His friend. It was good and he told himself it was enough. He wondered though how much longer he could keep up this seesaw of want and suppression before something broke. He’d prayed on it daily after that night they’d kissed, after he’d held Crowley in his arms, and always Liyurna, fast becoming his most talked-to goddess could not be sensed or felt in the air above Her altar. He could feel Her when he prayed for other reasons, for the safe passage of a new foal or a new lamb into the world, or when he prayed for the deer to leave their crops alone, but when he prayed to be delivered from his lustful feelings for Crowley, She was silent. 

She was after all the goddess who had urged him in his dreams to ride south to meet Crowley, to nurse him back to health. Perhaps, hope upon hope, she did not disapprove of Aziraphale’s feelings? But this made no sense. He had been raised to believe that sexual lust and romantic love were meant for men and women to have children. Familial love, brotherly love, the love of friends for each other was all well and good, but lustful love, pining romantic love like the kind he was finally admitting to himself that he felt for Crowley? Love like that between two men was frowned upon, and it was a rare occurrence in the northern kingdoms. It was not against the king’s law exactly, but it was considered unseemly and a thing crude village men did. A thing that may have been indulged in in the south or the east, where they were more sexually permissive (if more superstitious religiously), but not in the north, where the assurance of large, healthy families was of utmost importance in a frozen land where crops had to be hearty and people fruitful. 

Aziraphale knew that his brothers had sensed this about him. It might have been one of the reasons they ostracized and mocked him like they did… or like they had before he traveled south to rescue Crowley. After his quest, they had developed a grudging respect for him. It made sense. He had finally done something they could understand, had ventured out on his own, in the face of danger to do something risky and rash, and had succeeded no less! They may even have sensed that his feelings for Crowley went beyond friendship, for he spent as much of his waking time as possible in the southern prince’s company. But perhaps not? Aziraphale would never broach the subject with his brothers. He was only glad that they had seemed to ease up in their opinion of him and had easily accepted Crowley as one of their number. 

_____________________________

Aziraphale had taught Crowley much about their northern gods, being that speaking with them and asking them for aid and for advice was his main priority as a priest, but he never saw Crowley pray to them. 

Until one night when he woke in the darkness from a small sound in the night. He got up, realizing that the sound had been the soft shutting of Crowley’s door and had gotten up to find that the other man was not in his bed. He ventured downstairs to the chapel and found Crowley, kneeling by the altar of Thrumous, god of war. Crowley’s head was bowed and his hands were clasped, and his shoulders were shaking gently. Aziraphale approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him, and placed a warm hand on his narrow shoulder. 

Crowley looked up at him then with tears in his eyes. He immediately wiped them away, ducking his head and mumbling an apology. 

“What is the matter Crowley?” Aziraphale asked gently. 

“It’s nothing angel. I was praying for the souls of the men that I.. that I killed. Your king’s men who died in my dragon’s fire.” and his breath hitched again and he let out a half sob, turning away from Aziraphale and back towards the altar. 

“Oh my dear friend” Aziraphale had said and pulled Crowley up and into a warm embrace. “I know it must weigh on you.”

“It does” mumbled Crowley wetly into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he gratefully returned the embrace. “It haunts my dreams. I did not intend to take those lives. Your people would not love me anymore if they knew what I’ve done” and with that, he dissolved into fresh sobs, his arms tightening around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale simply held him, swaying them back and forth gently and making shushing sounds. He reached up to stroke Crowley’s soft hair, and whispered reassurances as he did so. “It wasn’t you dearest. It was the beast. You were attacked and scared and confused. It wasn’t who you are now. Now here with us. Here with.. with me” he whispered. 

Soon, Crowley’s sobs slowed and ceased, and though Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to hold him for the rest of the night, he knew that his feelings would soon change from loving kindness to heated desire if he didn’t release Crowley from his arms. And so he stepped back, holding his friend by the shoulders and smiled at him sadly. Crowley smiled back.

“Thank you for that angel” he said, his voice a bit rough from grief. “I can never forgive myself for what I did, but it is a comfort to have you here to help me through it. You are indeed a good priest”

Before Aziraphale could let the feelings those words caused inside him to bubble to the surface, he turned and lead Crowley back upstairs and they both went back to their separate beds, although it took a long time for sleep to claim Aziraphale, distracted though he was by the memory of Crowley back in his arms, and worry over his beloved friend’s grief.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor mentions of rape and torture in this chapter folks.

Hastur sat back on the throne and regarded the two figures standing before him. It was a mango farmer and his wife, both ashen and thin and looking up at him with a mix of fear and anger. “What did you hope to accomplish by coming here today?” he asked, his voice a creaking rasp, undercut by a low rumble. His black eyes fierce but dead of any compassion or emotion, like those of a shark.

“Forgive us priest Hastur, we came to inquire about our son and our daughter. They came to serve your court many months ago, and we have not seen them since” The husband was clearly trying to be brave. He stepped forward and was attempting a strident, confident tone, but his voice shook as he spoke. Hastur gave a humorless smile and watched as the farmer slowly stepped back under its threatening effect. 

“Your son and your daughter were chosen to serve my court. It is a great honor, and one you should be grateful for. They will not return to your household until I deem them of no further use to me.” he said, watching as their faces fell. 

“And when.. When pray tell will that be?” the farmer asked, gripping his wife’s hand and giving Hastur a beseeching look, tinted with a broiling resentment that Hastur actually enjoyed seeing. 

“I cannot say” he replied lazily. “They are both strong and very handsome of face and form. I have many… “ here he paused for effect “uses for them”. He delighted in the flinch that crossed the farmer’s face and watched as his wife hid her expression against his shoulder, unable to look at Hastur any longer. 

“Now, if you would, please leave my court. Before I have you thrown out” he said. The man and his wife turned and hurried from his presence, the wife’s sobs echoing down the hallway to the palace’s main doors as they left. 

Hastur leaned back onto the silken pillows of what had once been his brother the king’s throne, but was now his and his alone. He had worked diligently for many years, whispering in his brother’s ear, paying off his brother’s advisors, using threats and manipulations and dark spells to gain control over the verdant and prosperous southern kingdom. All he’d ever wanted was complete control over as many people as possible. Growing up, his brother, King Anton had been the kind one, the caring one. The  _ regal _ one. The one everyone knew would ascend to the throne, while Hastur had been the runt, the pale, weak one, in a land of caramel skinned, hearty southern people. His caretakers, nannies and teachers had known there was something off about him from a very young age. He’d been unusually silent and unemotional, not laughing and running to play like other children. Instead, they’d caught him torturing the palace parrots and cats and monkeys by poking them with sharp sticks or pulling out their feathers. He was cold, cruel boy and they didn’t trust him. He was always swift to excuse his bad behaviors with charming misdirection and flattery and fake smiles. This only worked on those who did not know him well already.

But king Anton trusted him. His brother the king always forgave his sins, was always there to defend him. Perhaps it was a sense of duty that kept his brother devoted to him. Perhaps it was because Hastur took after their pale, dark eyed father, who had doted on Anton. He wasn’t sure what exactly was behind Anton’s affection for him, for he didn’t understand anyone’s emotions. All he ever felt was a strange numbness, that gave way to wicked glee or sexual desire when the occasion warranted, but nothing that approach love or compassion. 

And so it had been a simple thing to bend Anton, sweet, trusting Anton to his will. He of course used enchantments and potions to help the king along. These he purchased from the village witch, Beelzebub, a repulsive old woman who lived in a small, filthy hut on the edge of town. She’d taught him all she could of dark lore and dark god Lucien, and of black magic spells… things that were outlawed for centuries among the southern people. It made Hastur feel powerful and special to know things that no one else in the kingdom knew. Once he was certain Beelzebub had taught him everything she could of this dark lore, he’d sent his assassin, Ligur to her hut to slit her throat. He’d done a swift job of it, returning with many books of spells and recipes for powerful potions that Hastur poured over late into the evenings by candlelight. 

By the time the king’s obnoxious whelp Anthony was of age, Hastur had successfully absorbed all the dark magic and dark arts he could. Enough so that he was certain no one could successfully challenge him for the throne, or for his control over the southern kingdoms. Anthony had been an obstacle, a stumbling block on his path to ultimate power, and so he’d send the lad north, cursed to take the form of a beast, cursed with yellow eyes and flaming hair and pale skin. Anyone who saw the boy would know he was touched by dark magic and would shun him. Hastur had grinned wickedly at his use of his brother’s people’s superstitions to help seal his nephew’s fate. 

He could have simply killed the lad, but at that time, king Anton had been teetering on falling completely under his control, and to murder his only son, well.. that would be a difficult thing for the king to overlook. Convincing him that his son was a useless, weak hearted sexual deviant who’d never be a good heir had been far easier. The king hadn’t known of the curse Hastur had placed on Anthony (by way of a concoction involving powdered lizard scales and the chanting of some short incantations over the boy’s wine goblet). No one had. He knew only that the boy had been banished to a far off corner of their lands as punishment for refusing to marry. As tales spread of the dragon’s evil influence over the lands, Hastur’s cold glee over a plan well executed grew and grew. 

He snapped his fingers and his aid, Druger, appeared from a side hallway to the throne room. The man was always there, waiting to fulfill Hastur’s every need. Now he bowed repeatedly and obsequiously before the throne, awaiting Hastur’s wishes. 

“I have a taste for some entertainment.” Hastur pronounced. “Bring me the new village girl so that I may amuse myself with her. And bring her brother along so that he may watch me.” The man went to leave, eager to do Hastur’s bidding, but Hastur stopped him with a motion of his hand. “Before you do that though, fetch Ligur to me. I have a task for him”

Druger nodded swiftly and rushed off to do his bidding. Those who dawdled in the completing of Hastur’s errands or those who second guessed him were swiftly punished. 

Moments later, Ligur appeared, his dark face stony and unreadable, his dark cloak swirling about him as he walked quietly to stand before Hastur. 

“I need you to head north Ligur” Hastur commanded. “I have heard tell from my spies, that Anthony has left his cave and has traveled to the House of Fell with their priest. He has taken up residence in the northern court and he must be dispatched. Find them and kill them both.” 

Hastur, unbeknownst to anyone in the court other than Ligur, had acquired the skill to ride the minds of birds and small vermin, to see through their eyes. This was how he’d glimpsed his nephew and this white haired priest setting out from the cave to head north.

Ligur nodded without speaking. He was a man of few words, and could be relied upon to kill quickly and silently, whomever Hastur ordered him to kill.

“Do it as publicly as possible” Hastur added darkly. “Make a spectacle of it so as to instill fear and anguish into as many as possible. Let the deaths of my nephew and this meddlesome priest serve as a warning for those who might dare oppose me in the future”

Ligur nodded again, then swept silently from Hastur’s presence, his booted feet making almost no noise on the marble floors as he left, and the priest relaxed back into his seat, smiling to himself. His nephew had dared to try and run from the curse he’d placed on him, and he would pay. And so would that white haired priest who’d dared to save his life. 


	8. Chapter 8

It had snowed several times, and Aziraphale delighted in watching Crowley experience snow this deep for the first time. The look of wonder on the red haired man’s face as his foot and then his leg had sunk, up to the knee in the cold white fluff outside the chapel door was a memory that Aziraphale doubted he’d forget for many years to come. They’d gone out to help the people shovel the great heaps of snow from the slate and stone walkways of the manor courtyard with large, wooden shovels, and Aziraphale had grinned to see Crowley, pink cheeked and awe struck at the piles of white. The grin quickly evaporated however when Crowley had hurled a compacted ball of snow at Aziraphale. It struck him in the chest, bursting into icy fragments on impact. Little did Crowley know however that Aziraphale, who’d grown up in the cold north, was an expert snowball marksman. He hurled several frozen, perfectly round balls of snow back at Crowley before the other man could even make a second one. He was careful to aim at Crowley’s chest and stomach and back, so as not to knock the dark glasses off his face. Crowley swiftly surrendered, laughing and holding his sides and begging for Aziraphale to stop. 

The children soon joined in, and a full on snowball fight ensued. 

As the weeks turned into months, the snow melted, the air warmed, and the first hesitant green heads of spring crocuses appeared. Aziraphale for once hated the sight of them, for it meant that the king’s party would head south to confront the southern priest. He knew Crowley would leave and possibly not return. 

And so it was at dinner one night in the great hall, a few days before the war party was to leave, that Aziraphale put down his wine goblet and told his brother that he’d be joining them on their mission to dispatch the priest. 

Gabriel looked at Aziraphale with open shock, which turned swiftly to condescending derision. “And what would you do to help brother? You can pray for our safe return from the manor chapel. We have no need of a scholar or a priest in our endeavors.”

Aziraphale, who usually backed down when his brother spoke thusly, steeled himself and responded, voice stiff and strident. “I’m coming with you. It’s as simple as that. Prince Anthony is my close friend, and I hate this southern priest as much as the rest of you do. I can help by cooking meals for the soldiers and can use my spells to help us on our journey. I am close to being a physic myself as well dear brother, and should, gods forbid, our men be hurt in battle, I will be able to tend to them”

Crowley interrupted him, placing a hand on his arm to stay his words “Priest Aziraphale” he said, frowning as he spoke “It’s far too dangerous. I would agree with your brother, that you should stay here”

“And what if you do not return?” Aziraphale asked, eyes trained on Crowley’s face. He said it softly, so that Gabriel and his brothers would not hear him. More loudly, he said “I’ve been learning swordplay and archery from Anthony. I won’t be utterly useless. I am tired of praying and staying at home. I want to help. I’m coming and that is the end of it!” His eyes when he said this, looking past Anthony’s surprised face at Gabriel’s glowering one were fierce, his mouth set. 

Gabriel relented. “Fine then. I can’t stop you from risking your life. Only stay out of our way. When danger strikes, it won’t do to have you underfoot.”

Aziraphale nodded, ignoring Gabriel’s condescending order in favor of winning the battle. 

Aziraphale could tell that Crowley wasn’t happy with his decision to come. When they were alone in their rooms that night, he tried to convince Aziraphale to stay. “If something were to happen to you in the service of helping me angel..” the flame haired man said, gripping Aziraphale by the shoulders and staring intently into his hazel eyes “I’d never forgive myself”

“And I’d never forgive myself if I let you go off to face this priest and never saw you again. I’d much rather die helping to fight Hastur than to sit at home, only to find out that you’ll never return...”

He stopped then, looking down and away from Crowley’s bright yellow eyes. Aziraphale had just told Crowley that he would rather die at his side than stay home without him. It was a bold declaration. One that Aziraphale hadn’t been quite prepared to make out loud. He felt Crowley drop his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders and step back. He looked up to see that the other man had turned away, shoulders tense, head bowed. “I.. I cannot force you to stay” he said, his voice choked with emotion. Then he turned again and fixed Aziraphale with a piercing look, his face anguished. “I cannot force you to stay, but you must know that if you were to come to harm, if you were to perish because of your stubborn insistence in coming with us, that.. I would never recover from your loss.” 

Aziraphale swallowed the thick lump that had risen in his throat and responded “I too would never recover were you to fall in battle dearest. You must know that”. He could not help but let the term of endearment boldly leave his lips. 

They stood, staring at each other as Aziraphale’s words echoed softly in the air between them. Aziraphale could see something in Crowley’s eyes, something deep and heated and glowing. He swiftly cleared his throat to break the silence. “It is high time I went to bed” he said, hating himself for breaking this spell building between them, yet knowing that if he looked at Crowley for one more second, he’d be unable to resist falling into his arms. Crowley’s face grew closed off and sad and he turned away again and mumbled “Yes. Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow”, and with that, he stalked into his bedroom and shut the door between them. 

Aziraphale let his breath out in a rush. He felt as though his heart might break at the memory of Crowley’s look when he’d said goodnight. Crowley had been asking him for something he wanted more than anything to give him. Something he couldn’t give, and it tore at his heart to continually turn the man away. He busied himself with getting ready for bed, washing himself in the basin of water on his bedside table, tamping down the fire in his fireplace and getting into his nightgown. He climbed into bed with a heavy heart and a mind full of thoughts of Crowley. 

He tried to sleep, but he could not. They’d be traveling south in a few short days, and what if they failed in their endeavor and perished? What if Hastur killed Crowley and Aziraphale never saw him again? What if? What if? What if…? The thought of life without Crowley was unbearable. There, in the dark of his bedroom, struggling to sleep and unable to do so, Aziraphale finally admitted to himself that he was deeply in love with his friend. He loved Crowley more than he had loved any person or any thing in his whole life. More than he loved his own gods. He was helpless against this burning ardent love, and he knew it. 

And so he crept out of bed and went to knock softly at Crowley’s door. After a rustling of bed sheets and the pat pat of Crowley’s bare feet on the wooden floor boards, the door opened to reveal Crowley’s pale face in the moonlit darkness of his bedroom, dark copper hair gleaming, his eyes soft and questioning.  _ Dear gods  _ thought Aziraphale  _ he’s so beautiful. _

“Crowley, may I come in?” Aziraphale asked, in a hushed voice, his eyes cast down. Crowley opened the door all the way and stepped back wordlessly, letting Aziraphale enter. He went and sat on the bed, regarding Aziraphale with wary eyes, silently waiting for him to speak, lit only by the low embers of the fire in the hearth near his bed and the bright moonlight shining through the window.

“I… I.. am not sure what to say” Aziraphale began, his heart pounding in his ears. He dared not look directly at Crowley’s face, and instead kept his eyes on Crowley’s, pretty, bare feet where they rested on the floor in front of his bed. “I am afraid of losing you” he said. “I fear that I’ve been a fool” he said. “I’ve been pushing you away for so long now, and all I truly want..” he stopped here, afraid to continue, gathering his courage “..all I truly want..” he continued with difficulty, “..is to be close to you”.

After a long moment, Crowley spoke at last, his voice gruff and low “You are a priest angel. You said so yourself. I will not press you to do anything you’ll regret”

“I won’t regret it.” Aziraphale finally found the courage to look at Crowley’s face, to see the surprise that echoed in Crowley’s yellow eyes at Aziraphale’s words. “Oh Crowley.” he continued. “I want you so very much. I have since I first saw your face. I.. I want you so much that I cannot think or eat or sleep properly from wanting you...and I won’t regret it if … if only you’ll let me -” 

He was interrupted by the other man rising swiftly to his feet and closing the distance between them. And then Crowley was in his arms and Crowley’s lips were against his lips and all his useless words were swept away in the heat that surged inside him as they kissed, passionately, fervently, desperately. “Oh angel” Crowley murmured against Aziraphale’s mouth between kisses. “Oh my dearest angel. I..I have waited so long”

“Crowley. Oh Crowley. My  _ dearest _ ” Aziraphale gave off trying to speak and kissed Crowley back with all the longing and love and desire he’d kept inside for all these long months. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s narrow waist and pulled him close and he felt Crowley’s questing fingers gripping tightly in his hair. 

They stumbled backwards onto the bed and Crowley pushed Azirpahale onto his back and climbed on top of him, pressing his body into Aziraphale’s, both moaning at the feel of it. 

“I need you angel. I need you so badly.” Crowley gasped into Aziraphale’s ear, his hands gripping and pulling up roughly on Aziraphale’s nightgown, his soft fingers finding their way to Aziraphale’s legs and up his thighs to grip at his naked hips, his touch pulling a gasp from Aziraphale’s open mouth. 

“Oh gods Crowley. Oh my dearest. Please please” begged Aziraphale, pulling up on Crowley’s nightgown as well, his hands hungrily seeking their way to Crowley’s soft skin. They impatiently and awkwardly pulled their night clothes off and over each other’s heads and Crowley moaned deep in his throat as the full length of his naked body made contact with Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale’s head spun at the feel of their skin touching, after so many long nights of wanting and waiting. “You feel so good my darling.” he whispered, breathless and overwhelmed against Crowley’s mouth “ _ So good.  _ Dear gods, you feel like silk.. You feel.. You feel..” 

He could not finish because Crowley captured his mouth again in a hot wet kiss and began moving against Aziraphale, moving them together in a way that made Aziraphale cry out at the delicious sparks that exploded between them. Suddenly though, Crowley ceased moving and broke their kiss to look down into Aziraphale’s eyes “You’re sure?” he asked, breathless, his voice rough with desire, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face, waiting for confirmation. “You have to be sure angel. I won’t push. I won’t go too fast. I promise”

“Crowley, please. yes.  _ Yes _ my dearest. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you”. Amid the profusion of his red hair that fell about them like a curtain, Aziraphale saw Crowley smile, and then he leaned down and kissed Aziraphale again and he was moving again, and Aziraphale was moaning against his lips, pressing his body up into Crowley’s with an eager desperation he’d never felt before.

Crowley rolled them onto their sides and reached to grip Aziraphale gently with his hand around Aziraphale’s base and the feel of it made Aziraphale cry out in surprised pleasure. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his and asked in a hushed voice, “will you touch me too angel?” Aziraphale swiftly nodded and wrapped his eager hand around Crowley’s thick hard cock, the heft and heat of it feeling so very good in his palm. They began pulling at each other, slowly at first, exploring with hands that trembled, testing the shape and feel of each other. They kissed again and it was as if Aziraphale had found a new religion. A new way to feel and taste and smell and see. His body was aflame with want. Crowley’s hand on him, Crowley’s body pressed against him, his mouth hot and open against Aziraphale’s mouth was the only thing that mattered anymore. 

They set up a rhythm of strokes, pulling on each other with eager hands, trading moans back and forth through open mouths at the intense pleasure of it. The feel of Crowley’s cock, then the look of it, was extremely exciting as Aziraphale broke their kiss momentarily to glance down, seeing it heavy and hot, the thick foreskin pulling back to display a head slick with clear fluid in the moonlight coming through the window. Aziraphale ran his thumb up and over the slick surface of Crowley’s cock head and was rewarded with a gasp and a thrust of hips from his lover. Crowley’s hand on him moved slowly, but with inexorable purpose, up and down, squeezing gently at the base and at the head. Aziraphale had never felt anything so wondrous, so delicious in his long life. 

It was over far too quickly. The feel of Crowley’s nearness and his artful stroking, his hot kisses were too much. Aziraphale barely had time to stammer out “dearest.. I’m.. I-” before felt himself peak and explode in Crowley’s hand, the intense pleasure of it twisting deep inside him and spreading out, making him breathless. Shortly afterwards, spurred on by Aziraphale’s open mouthed gasps of pleasure, Crowley also fell over the edge, his hot semen spilling to coat Aziraphale’s pumping fist as he softly cried out “Angel. Angel. Angel” over and over. 

They lay there breathless, still trembling with aftershocks of the intense pleasure for several long minutes, until Crowley rolled out of bed to fetch a wet linen cloth to clean them up. Once this was accomplished, with much grinning and a break or two for kissing, they clung to each other under Crowley’s covers, gazing into each other’s eyes in the moonlight from his bedroom window. Aziraphale was overwhelmed with love. His body felt like it had never felt before, loose and warm and full of languid, tingling tranquility. He let his hands play over Crowley’s soft, slightly sweat damp skin and combed his fingers through Crowley’s long red hair, sighing happily. Crowley held him tight and kissed him softly on the lips and cheeks and forehead, bending to deliver kisses in as many places as he could reach before settling back to look deeply, drunkenly into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I’ve never done that before” Aziraphale said.

“You’re a priest angel, you told me as much already” Crowley’s voice held a note of light teasing and Aziraphale smiled shyly.

“Was it good?” he asked, needing to know. He’d hate it if his inexperience had hampered Crowley’s pleasure.

“Angel.. It was. It was better than I dreamed it could be” Crowley said earnestly. “And just so you’re aware, being a dragon for thirty years did not afford me any opportunities for affections of the flesh. I’d had a few short flings as a young man in the southern palace before my banishment, but after that..” he shrugged “the townspeople only ever sent me virginal young girls as sacrifices. Not handsome young men” he grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. 

Aziraphale grinned back. They kissed, slowly and languorously, hands roaming over each other’s skin. Aziraphale wanted to consume Crowley. To touch every inch of his body and put his mouth everywhere at once. He smelled so good and felt so soft and warm in Aziraphale’s arms. Before long, he could feel himself becoming aroused again, feel himself hardening between them and he could feel Crowley stiffening as well. Their kisses grew more intent, their grip on each other tighter and more desperate. Soon Azirapahle was fully erect and breathless and thrusting against Crowley and Crowley was worshiping Aziraphale’s sensitive neck with his mouth. 

Crowley left off his wet, open mouthed kisses against Aziraphale’s throat to whisper roughly into his ear “I need to taste you” and Aziraphale nodded swiftly. 

“Oh gods please” he begged, moaning softly as Crowley’s kisses traveled lower. His lips burned with tingling fire where they touched Aziraphale’s pale, unkissed skin, and he had to wonder if there was some enchantment in Crowley’s touch. The red haired man lavished kisses over Aziraphale’s collarbone and down onto his chest, pausing for a moment to run the flat of his tongue against Aziraphale’s hard pebble of a nipple, setting new sparks alight deep inside Aziraphale’s core. He cried out and reached his trembling hands up to grip gently in Crowley’s hair as Crowley trailed his hot kisses lower, down onto Aziraphale’s stomach, and then lower still. He took Aziraphale in his mouth without much preamble, sinking down on his cock with a wet heat and a delicious pressure that cased Aziraphale to arch off the bed into velvet-hot wetness and cry out again. 

Aziraphale heard a string of words tumbling from his mouth as Crowley worked him, slowly, using his lips and tongue to bear in ways that made Aziraphale writhe with pleasure. “Crowley. Crowley. Dearest. My darling. Oh my gods. Oh that. That… your mouth.. That feels so good. So good”. Crowley moaned in response to Aziraphale’s praise and sped up his pace a bit, and all Aziraphale could do was grip his hair and moan. Before long, he felt his orgasm approaching. “I’m close dearest” he gasped out and felt Crowley nod, urging him on, increasing his pace further still, and so he let go and exploded inside Crowley’s mouth. Crowley clung to him, riding it out with him, staying sealed against Aziraphale’s length, taking everything Aziraphale gave him, holding Aziraphale by the hips in a tight grasp as Aziraphale cried out in high pitched gasps at the intense pleasure. 

Afterwards, Crowley climbed up to straddle Aziraphale, his long, lanky body and long cock beautiful in the moonlight. He grasped himself and started stroking, looking down at Aziraphale with lust filled eyes. Aziraphale gripped his lean thighs and splayed his hands lovingly over Crowley’s narrow waist, and stroked what he could reach of Crowley’s buttocks while the red haired man pleasured himself, his eyes locked to Aziraphale’s. “You look so good angel” he gasped out, his hand moving up and down, stroking himself with surety. “You look so beautiful in the moonlight. Your face is going to make me come.” 

Aziraphale was stunned. No one had ever said such things to him before. The idea that he was beautiful had never occurred to him. The idea that the sight of his face could inspire sexual longing was incomprehensible. Crowley must have seen his confused look, because he paused, his hand stilling and leaned down until he could kiss Aziraphale, deeply. He pulled back and said “you know that you’re beautiful don’t you angel? You are one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. The first time I laid eyes on you, I was struck by your beauty. Your hair, your eyes, your soft mouth, your lovely body. I’m overcome sometimes looking at you”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot and tears sprang to his eyes upon hearing Crowley’s words “No one... no one has ever told me that before” he said in a soft, quiet voice. 

“I’ll never stop telling you if you’ll let me” Crowley replied, kissing Aziraphale slowly and deeply until Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel himself harden anew. Then, when Aziraphale was whining in the back of his throat and gently thrusting his hips up against Crowley, the other man sat back up and took himself in hand again, stroking with renewed enthusiasm. “You look so good angel. I want to pull myself off to your beauty. I want to come over you, to show you what the sight of you does to me” his hand had found its rhythm again, and his mouth fell open, his lids half closed in pleasure, but he kept his eyes open and roaming over Azirpahale’s face and body as he spoke. Crowley looked like a god. Like a flame haired vision and Aziraphale found himself stiffening back to full tumescence at the sight and sound of this beautiful man touching himself and praising Aziraphale. Crowley could feel it too, and so he clambered backwards a bit so that Aziraphale could free his own cock, so that he sat low in Aziraphale’s lap, their warm scrotums pressed together. “Touch yourself with me angel. I want to see you stroke your cock” Crowley moaned. He was clearly close to finishing, his fist moving more spastically along his length, his hips making involuntary little thrusts, but the sight of him had Aziraphale gaining on him swiftly. 

“Dear gods angel, your skin, your mouth, your eyes. Watching you touch yourself. You.. You’re getting me so close.” Crowley’s voice was a strained, velvety whisper. Aziraphale used his free hand to grip Crowley’s hip and urge him onward as he stroked himself urgently in tandem. 

“Come for me my darling. Come for me. Let me see you fall apart” he begged hoarsely, his own orgasm an approaching glimmer in the distance. Crowley swiftly complied, crying out in rhythmic keening noises as he came, hot semen streaking Aziraphale’s chest and stomach. When his tremors subsided, he fell to his side on the bed and snuggled close, whispering breathlessly in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Mmmm. your turn angel. I want to watch you lose yourself again. I want to watch you explode.” His soft words tickling Aziraphale’s ear made Aziraphale’s cock twitch in response. He scooped up some of Crowley’s essence from his stomach and chest and used it to slick his cock. Soon, the feel and smell and slick sensation as he stroked himself had him rushing towards another orgasm. 

“Crowley! Oh gods!” he gasped as he peaked and then shuddered his way over the edge. Crowley kissed him and praised him through it, his voice a husky whisper in Aziraphale’s ear as gentle waves of pleasure rippled through him (“ _ That’s it my angel. Yes. You look so beautiful. Yes my angel _ ”). This being his third orgasm in an hour, it wasn’t as intense, but it was meaningful. The blending of their semen together, Crowley’s voice in his ear, his body pressed against Aziraphale’s side, it felt incredibly intimate. 

This time, after Aziraphale came back down to earth, they both crept from the bed to find the now frigid basin of water to clean themselves off, both giggling and gasping at the cold water as it splashed against their super heated skin. They swiftly finished washing and ran back to Crowley’s bed, snuggling together for warmth, breathless and grinning. 

There were things Aziraphale yearned to say but could not. He wanted to profess his undying love for Crowley. He wanted to beg him not to ride south with Gabriel and his men. He wanted to tell Crowley that he’d stay by his side from this day onward, never leaving, never wavering. But those words would not come. Perhaps because Aziraphale had never said them to anyone before. Perhaps because he was afraid to break what felt like a fragile dream, lying in Crowley’s arms, loose and exhausted from shared pleasure. If he brought up the turmoil inside his heart, would it push Crowley away? He did not want to find out. And so he simply pulled Crowley tighter against him and kissed him until they both fell asleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few days, they couldn’t get enough of each other. They held hands under the table at meal times. They pulled each other into empty rooms to kiss quickly and desperately, melting together briefly before breaking apart again to avoid detection from the manor’s many servants. At night, they took each other apart slowly with mouths and hands, exploring each other’s bodies with more urgency as the day of the journey south approached. Aziraphale was endlessly hungry for Crowley’s touch, for Crowley’s kisses, and the other man met him effortlessly and with intense enthusiasm. He supposed this might be due to how they’d both lived so long in a bondage of sorts, Aziraphale bonded by his promise to stay sexually pure, and Crowley bonded by the evil curse that had haunted him most of his adult life. Neither had ever had the chance to feel this powerful love and longing, let alone indulge in it with the object of their affections, and so they made love every night, often more than once a night, and found ways to kiss and caress each other in secret during spare moments of the day. 

This was not lost on the household servants, or on the brother’s wives. It was impossible to ignore the way they looked at each other, the way even a small touch between them lingered a bit too long when Aziraphale passed Crowley a wine goblet, or the soft, caring tone in Crowley’s voice when he asked Aziraphale to join him in archery practice. If the king and Aziraphale’s brothers noticed that their eldest sibling was glowing gently every time he looked at prince Anthony, they did not let on. Aziraphale was glad for their silence, and worried that the servants would judge him for his dalliances. But he could not help himself, and so he could only do his best to suppress his lustful longing for Crowley during the day, only to unleash it in heated waves when they were alone together at night. 

Aziraphale was shocked and pleased to feel Liyurna’s energy return to the space above her altar when he prayed. The gods were there, listening to him, just as they always had. If anything, he could hear them more clearly. Hear their whispers and sense their power in ways he had never felt before. Perhaps they approved of he and Crowley’s union. He dared to hope that this was true. 

___________________________________________________

Soon, it was the night before they were to leave on their journey south. After Aziraphale had lovingly, enthusiastically pulled open mouthed gasps of pleasure from Crowley with the use of his lips and tongue and Crowley had eagerly returned the favor, they lay, gasping and dazed in each other’s arms. Aziraphale sensed that Crowley, loose and warm from their recent love making, was drifting off to sleep and so he grasped Crowley’s face in his hands to wake him. “Crowley dearest” he whispered, as Crowley sleepily blinked his yellow eyes open to peer back at him, looking for all the world like a sun drunk reptile. “I have some things I need to say”

“Nnnnk. Can’t it wait angel? You’ve worn me out with that mouth of yours.” His face contorted itself into an irritable expression, belied only by the fact that he pulled Aziraphale close to him and then nuzzled his nose into the priest’s warm neck. 

“No Crowley, it can’t wait.” Aziraphale pulled back and looked at Crowley, taking a deep breath. “I must tell you... that I love you” he said softly, watching as Crowley’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open in surprise. “I love you with all of my heart and soul and that I never want to leave your side again.” Aziraphale finished. He felt vulnerable and scared and he knew he must be blushing furiously from the heat he felt rising in his face. 

Crowley blinked at him slowly.

“Oh please say something Crowley. Don’t just look at me like that” pleaded Aziraphale, feeling tears start to prickle at the corners of his eyes at Crowley’s silence. 

“Angel” Crowley said simply, gently. He rolled them over so that he lay atop Aziraphale, and even in his fear and embarrassment, Aziraphale felt glimmers of renewed passion sparking inside him at the feel of Crowley’s lanky body against his own. They often slept nude, huddled together in Crowley’s bed, being that the door to their rooms opened onto Aziraphale’s bedroom and they’d need some warning were anyone to dare disturb them. 

“Angel” Crowley repeated, looking down earnestly into Aziraphale’s eyes with his sharp yellow gaze. “Can’t you see that I am helplessly in love with you? I thought that much was clear by the way in which I’ve thrown myself at you with utter abandon since we met” 

Aziraphale smiled tearfully. “You have?” he asked cautiously, hope and joy blooming in his heart at hearing Crowley’s words. 

“My dear, sweet idiot” Crowley’s voice was indulgent and kind and he smiled at Aziraphale’s nervous doubtfulness. “As soon as I was relatively certain I wouldn’t die, I committed myself to ardently trying to get you into my bed. I thought that much was clear.”

“Oh, well, yes… I suppose” stammered Aziraphale. “I only thought that was passion. The desires of the flesh. I wasn’t certain that it went any… deeper than that” He looked away, suddenly bashful.

“You really are a blind fool” Crowley smirked. “I have loved you from the moment I first saw you. Even in the form of the beast, even bleeding and close to death, I remember thinking, ‘now  _ this _ is the kind of sacrifice I wish the townspeople had sent me sooner’”

Aziraphale barked out a surprised laugh and Crowley, grinning from ear to ear, bent to kiss his smiling mouth. “You are my sun and my moon and my starry sky angel. You are my home and my flame, my salvation and my protection. I love you dearly you stupid man” Crowley then buried his face back in Aziraphale’s neck and snuggled up against him, sighing happily. Aziraphale felt as if he could sprout wings and fly into the night sky. His joy at Crowley’s confession made his heart bloom with happiness. 

Soon, the other man’s nearness, the feel of his warmed skin pressing against Aziraphale’s had Aziraphale hard and throbbing with desire. Crowley could feel the evidence of Aziraphale’s passion, where it pressed insistently against the thigh he had slung over Aziraphale’s waist. 

“Mmmm. Angel” he purred. “It seems that you’re not quite ready for sleep yet”, and with that he began gently kissing Aziraphale’s neck in a way he knew would drive the priest wild with want. Aziraphale could only moan in response and thrust his hips. 

“Can I…” Aziraphale breathless from the feel of Crowley’s lips, paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “Can I… enter you?” he asked, cheeks burning. Crowley stopped in his worship of Aziraphale’s neck and pulled back to look at him, a wicked grin on his face. 

“Why priest Aziraphale” he teased “Whatever do you mean?” 

Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he frowned disapprovingly up at Crowley. “You know full well what I mean dearest. Don’t tease me”

“Oh, but teasing you is so very enjoyable” Crowley replied, reaching a hand down to gently stroke Aziraphale’s cock with feather-light touches of his long, elegant fingers, making him gasp in pleasure. “So, my handsome northern priest, please tell me of what you mean. For I am but an uneducated southern lad and haven’t heard tell of this ‘entering’ you speak of”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was finding it hard to be stern as Crowley’s tortuously light touches to his straining cock were causing his head to spin and his breath to come faster. “I.. I want to.. To enter you. To be inside you. Please Crowley. Don’t toy with me, I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“Mmmm. I love toying with you” Crowley growled, pulling Aziraphale on top of him, looking up at him with bright yellow eyes, alight with mischief. “If you ask nicely, I’ll let you teach me the ways of northern love with your priestly cock” He squirmed delightfully beneath Aziraphale in a way that made the priest in question groan. 

“Oh gods Crowley. Please let me enter you. Please let me put my cock in you. Please” Aziraphale begged, in between kisses to Crowley’s soft, smiling lips. He was grinding them both together now, his cock achingly hard, his hips rolling in slow, rhythmic thrusts. 

Crowley grinned wickedly in response. “Give me your fingers” he whispered, and when Aziraphale brought his hand near Crowley’s face, crowley grabbed it and sucked two of Azirphale’s thick fingers into his hot, wet mouth. The sensation was incredible and Aziraphale moaned louder at the feel of it. “Now use your fingers to work me open” Crowley instructed, his breath coming faster, his cock between them now just as hard as Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale cautiously did as he was tasked, reaching between them and gently probing with his now slick fingers at Crowley’s tight opening. Crowley moaned at the feel and thrust himself downwards onto Aziraphale’s questing fingers. “More angel. You can give me more.” Not wanting to disappoint him, Aziraphale slowly but surely pressed inwards, sucking in a sharp breath at the feel of Crowley’s tight heat as he sank deeper. 

  
“Oh my darling. Oh Crowley, you feel so good” Aziraphale gasped against Crowley’s lips.

“Yes angel. Yessss. Open me up for you.” Crowley’s cock was stiff and throbbing between them. Aziraphale, suddenly inspired, moved down the bed and took Crowley halfway into his mouth while he continued his exploration of Crowley’s tight passage with his fingers. This made Crowley cry out loudly and grip at the covers of the bed. “Oh angel. Yes! Yes! Oh, I think I’m ready now” he gasped out. 

Aziraphale chose not to listen to him for a moment, enthralled as he was by the feel of Crowley’s hardness in his mouth, and the hot, tight feel of Crowley, clenching against his questing fingers. Soon though, he felt Crowley’s hands tangle into his hair and tug upwards insistently. “Angel.. Please” Cowley begged, his voice rough, his eyes as they looked down at Aziraphale desperate and shining. “Please, give me your cock. I can’t wait any longer.”

Aziraphale abandoned his oral worship of Crowley and clambered to his knees, positioning himself at Crowley’s entrance, the slender man’s waist gripped in his hands. “Are you ready dearest?” he asked breathlessly, already beyond aroused simply by the process of opening Crowley with his fingers. 

“Please” Crowley repeated, his eyes pleading, his hands pulling on Aziraphale’s upper arms in an entreaty to pull Aziraphale onwards. 

Aziraphale carefully lined himself up and pushed in slowly. Crowley begged soundlessly, his mouth gaping open in pleasure, his head flung back and eyes closed. The sight was almost Aziraphale’s undoing, but he steeled himself against his impending climax and pressed further. The feeling of Crowley’s tight opening surrounding him, pulling him in, enveloping him was like nothing he had ever felt before. He worried briefly that he might be hurting his lover, and so he asked “Is this alright my dearest?”

Crowley laughed, voice husky and cracking. “Is it alright? Angel, if is quite simply the best thing that has ever happened to my body. Please move. Please give me more”

Aziraphale took him at his word and executed a slow, deliberate pull out and thrust back in, delighting in the wave of pleasure that rolled across Crowley’s face as he did so. He slightly adjusted his stance and thrust again, and then, slowly, again, until he had set up a steady in and out rhythm. Crowley clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders, then his neck, then framing his face, leaning up to press desperate kisses to his mouth and praising him and gasping in pleasure. Aziraphale could not believe the feel of Crowley surrounding him, the pull and the grip of his tight passage around Aziraphale’s cock. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer and so he slowed even further, biting his lip, seeking control. Each pull out and each thrust back in taking several seconds to complete. This had Crowley begging him to go faster, begging him to go harder.

“Dearest I can’t” Aziraphale gasped out. “It will be over to quickly if I do”

“Then so be it angel. I need you, hard and fast. Do it. Please.” Crowley sounded utterly ruined, and hearing his voice, begging for Aziraphale to go faster, it pushed him even closer to the brink.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and complied with Crowley’s request, using swift snaps of his hips to pound into Crowley with increasing speed. He barely made it through half a dozen hard thrusts before his orgasm swept threw him. He groaned deep in his throat and gripped Crowley’s hips, pulling Crowley down onto him as he spasmed and gasped his way through his climax. Crowley came along with him, his cock untouched, throwing his head back and keening through gritted teeth as he spilled his semen between them. 

Aziraphale collapsed on top of Crowley, heedless of the mess of them and wrapped the trembling red haired man in his arms, showering his face with kisses. “I love you.” he whispered “thank you. I love you. I love you”.

Crowley smiled and kissed him back, catching Aziraphale’s lips when they passed close to his own and murmuring back. “Yes angel. I love you. I love you too.” 

“What if it all goes wrong?” Aziraphale asked, his heart clenching with fear at the thought that this could be the last time he held Crowley like this. 

“Shhh. Don’t think such things angel.” Crowley stroked his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and pulled him even closer. “We shall be victorious. Gabriel and your brothers and I have been going over these plans for months now. I know my uncle. He will be gloating over some minor manipulation or some thoughtless cruelty and won’t think to guard the entrance by the southwestern corner of the palace. We shall sneak in and confront him. And not even his dark spells will be a match for an angry dragon.”

“What?!” Aziraphale pulled away from their embrace to look at Crowley with shock. “You plan on confronting him.. As.. as the dragon? Dearest. No. You cannot reveal yourself so!”

“How else would we hope to succeed?” Crowley asked “he is a dark mage. He has clearly studied black magic from some source to be able to curse me like this in the first place. Did you think simple swords and arrows and spears will harm him? No, I am certain that I must become the beast to do battle with that dark hearted fiend.”

“But… but…” Aziraphale stuttered, feeling scared and dreadful and a little angry all at the same time. “But..you’ll reveal yourself to my brother and his men”

“Yes. I will” Crowley responded “And I’ll have to trust that they will not immediately fall upon me and destroy me when I do. It is the best plan I could come up with. Your brother” here, Crowley gripped Aziraphale tenderly by the sides of his face and stared into his eyes “your headstrong brother believes that Hastur can be dispatched with military prowess alone. He is naive, and I have let him revel in his naivete. Once they have escorted me, and now you as well, into southern lands and we have infiltrated the castle, I will transform and confront my uncle. If all goes well and I can slay the evil priest, we’ll need Gabriel’s soldiers to keep order and to establish me as the rightful ruler in Hastur’s stead. Otherwise, all will be chaos. If your brother decides to attack me, well then, I will submit to his spear. It is only what I deserve for the murder of his men”

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop and twist in anguish upon hearing Crowley’s words. Tears sprang to his eyes and he gripped Crolwey’s face in return, his gaze intent. “No Crowley. You can’t. You can’t do this! I won’t allow it! It’s too dangerous. Its too rash. There has to be a better way!” He was growing desperate now, his grip on Crowley’s face tightening in fear. 

“There is none” Crowley replied, his eyes determined, if sad. “There is no way for me alone, or you and I together to make our way that far south without a military escort in a land full of suspicious people full of fear. Dear gods Aziraphale, the way we look alone would have people following us, attacking us, perhaps capturing us to bring us to Hastur in hopes of his approval. But with your brother and his men to escort us.. Well, there have been several such campaigns made into the southern lands over the past few decades. It would be far safer and far less conspicuous. And then, once we reach the palace, we’ll be unprotected until we make our way to Hastur’s chambers. Your brother and his fighters will come in very handy. I can’t simply become a dragon and knock down the doors. There are too many soldiers guarding the gates. I have no desire to kill anyone else but Hastur. It has to be this way.” he gently stroked Aziraphale’s cheekbones with tender thumbs “Believe me angel. I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. I didn’t want to tell you sooner, for fear you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“You’d be right” Aziraphale remarked glumly. “I agree that it is the best plan, but it is still far too dangerous. Too many unknown parts. Too much left to chance.”

“You don’t have to come angel” Crowley reminded him gently. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you stayed here, safe and protected within the walls of Manor Fell.”

Azirahpale kissed Crowley, fiercely, passionately, then withdrew to whisper against his open mouth, “I swore to you moments ago that I never want to be apart from you again, and I meant it. I will fight, and die by your side if need be”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that my angel” Crowley pulled Aziraphale close, pressing soft kisses to the side of his face. “Let’s pray that we are successful.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn came all too quickly. Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Crowley already awake and gazing at him, his copper hair aflame in the sunlight that came streaming through the windows. His dandelion-yellow eyes soft as they rested on Aziraphale’s face. 

  
“You really are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen” he said softly, and smiled. Aziraphale thought his heart might implode in his chest at the sight of Crowley’s handsome face, wreathing in a happy, sleepy smile,.. at the sound of his words. 

“Good morning my dearest” Aziraphale replied and pulled Crowley into a fierce embrace. They didn’t have time to make love, and he bitterly regretted this as they climbed from the bed to wash and ready themselves to depart on their journey south. 

They went together down to the great hall where the household had gathered for a final meal together. The wives were distraught of course. The children were nervous and unnaturally quiet. It was a somber meal, with all involved wondering if this was the last time they’d see the men alive. Gabriel had been all confident bluster in the days leading up to this morning, but now, he was somber and quiet as he ate his breakfast. 

Soon, the company had assembled themselves in the courtyard for their departure. Several of the townspeople had come to wish them farewell, wrapped up in dark cloaks and furred hoods against the spring chill. 

Aziraphale mounted Thimble and waited while Crowley mounted a dark steed Gabriel had provided him for the journey. It had been a wise move to get the horses accustomed to Crowley’s presence in the months leading up to the trip, for now, the horse he mounted remained calm and steady beneath his weight as he settled in the saddle. 

The sun was just climbing in the sky, it being mid morning, and it warmed the air infinitesimally, but clouds of frosty condensation could still be seen leaving the noses and mouths of men and horse alike in the chilly air. 

The attack happened so quickly that Aziraphale had no time to react to it. Before he could register that one of the townspeople, wrapped in a dark robe was unknown to him, and wonder at the person approaching Crowley, the man had lept onto Crowley’s horses back to sit astride the saddle behind him. 

Then time seemed to slow like sap, oozing from a tree in winter as Aziraphale saw the flash of a knife, and cried out in surprise as it’s blade approached Crowley’s throat.

He heard a strangled gasp from Crowley beside him and then… pandemonium broke loose. There was a great whoosh of air beside him and he heard screams from the townspeople, and panicked whinnies of the horses. 

Thimble danced sideways and Aziraphale cast fearful eyes over to where Crowley had sat atop his horse seconds ago, only to see the great dragon, neck unfurling, wings spreading as it (as Crowley in his dragon’s form) rose threateningly into sky. A man, small and helpless looking, hung from Crowley’s long, scaled neck, attempting to gain purchase, with a knife in his hand. Crowley’s horse, eyes rolling white and panicked, ran through the open gates and out into the fields surrounding the castle, screaming as it went. 

The townspeople, Gabriel and his men, scattered in all directions as Crowley grew larger and his wings unfolded to block the morning sunlight. He reached down with a great, sharp toothed maw and plucked the dark skinned southern man from where he clung to Crowley’s neck and shook him, until his body hung boneless and lifeless in Crowley’s teeth. He then dropped the man to the ground with a thud. 

It was all over so quickly that Aziraphale barely had time to react. He could see Gabriel and Michael, still miraculously atop their panicked horses, hands white knuckled in their steed’s reigns, a few yards away, staring up at the dragon with awe and fear painted on their shocked faces. He saw Crowley swivel his great, scaled head and turn his yellow eyes to meet Aziraphale’s and heard Crowley’s voice in his mind.

*we must flee*

And then the dragon took flight. With several flaps of his massive wings, motions that knocked several townspeople and a few of Gabriel’s soldiers to the ground with the great wind this caused, the dragon that was Crowley rose into the air. Aziraphale was plucked unceremoniously from Thimble’s saddle before his horse could bolt and was carried aloft, the dragon’s claws carefully gripping his coat and wrapped around his arms. Aziraphale heard himself yell in surprise as he lifted up into the air, as he watched the courtyard and it’s surprised, shocked inhabitants shrink and drop away beneath his flailing, boot clad feet. 

And then they were flying, over the fields, over the houses of the townsfolk, many of whom lifted pale ovals of surprised faces up to watch them pass. Aziraphale’s breath was coming in great gasps. His heart was pounding in his chest as he watched his legs dangle, a hundred feet or more above the ground as Crowley flew with him southwards. He reached hands up to grip the scaly claws that held him and dared to look up at the red belly of the dark scaled beast that had him in its grasp, this beast who was his true love. He was awed by the sight of Crowley’s massive, black scaled form and the gleaming red scales (a color Aziraphale just now realized matched Crowley’s hair perfectly when he was in human form) that painted the underside of Crowley’s neck and belly as the dragon flew up and up with great pulls of its massive, black wings. 

They did not fly for long. Only until they were far out of sight of the castle, before Crowley slowly, gently glided down to earth again, into a clearing in the thick forest by the side of the road and just as gently deposited Aziraphale to the ground with barely a jolt. Immediately, the second his massive hind legs touched the ground, the dragon that was Crowley began to transform. His wings shrank and shriveled and disappeared behind his back as his form shrank down and down into a small human body. His scales broadened and spread and became paler and paler, until they were the startling white of Crowley’s human skin. The dragon’s great head pulled inwards, its jaw and neck shortening, its eyes pulling together, all of Crowley shortening and shrinking, and soon, a naked, pale, utterly human red haired man stood before Aziraphale, shivering in the cold morning air and looking at Aziraphale with anguished yellow eyes. 

Aziraphale swiftly stepped up to take him into his embrace. Crowley’s clothes had naturally been ripped to shreds at his sudden transformation, but none of that mattered right now. They were alive and safe and alone for the moment. Aziraphale disengaged from his embracing of Crowley for long enough to remove his fur lined cloak and wrap Crowley in it. 

  
“Thank you” Crowley whispered. He looked deeply ashamed and had dropped his eyes to his bare feet where they stood on the new spring grass of the clearing where they’d landed. 

“Crowley, my dear. What happened? Who was that man?”

“Likely my uncle’s pet assassin, Ligur” Crowley explained. “I’m certain he meant to kill both of us. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t quick enough”. He looked up again at Aziraphale, eyes haunted. “Now that you’ve seen me once again as the dragon, have seen me destroy a man before your eyes, you’ll likely regret all those pretty words you said last night in my bed” he spat out, face twisting with bitter self hatred. 

“Darling! No!” Aziraphale was quick to pull Crowley close to him again. “No. Don’t even let yourself  _ think _ such a thing. My feelings for you are unchanged” He shook Crowley gently by the shoulders and gazed earnestly into his eyes as he said this. Crowley’s eyes glimmered with a small spark of hope, but he turned away again, looking into the dark forest. 

“I must travel south” he said, dropping the subject of Aziraphale’s feelings and striding towards the tree’s edge. 

“But Crowley! You need clothing. We cannot travel without horses and with you wrapped only in a cloak!” He chased after Crowley, hand outstretched towards him. 

Crowley turned back to him, a determined look to his face. “Yes, I can, I can _ fly. _ ” Before Aziraphale could speak, Crowley interrupted him again. “I have a dual purpose now. To travel south and confront my uncle, and to avoid capture by your brother and his men. For once seeing my true form, their mission south has surely now doubled as a hunting party to bring me down. I can’t subject you to that. I can’t include you in something this rash and unplanned angel. I’m going on my own”

“But.. but.” Aziraphale was out of his depth. Everything had taken such a sharp turn, so swiftly. The ground had literally fallen away beneath him mere moments ago as Crowley had grabbed him and taken flight. “What do you mean ‘I’ Crowley? We’re going together.”

Crowley’s look was a mix of emotions as Aziraphale said this. Pride and love and fear warring on his handsome, narrow features. “That’s ridiculous Aziraphale. You can stay here and wait for your brother’s men, tell them that I kidnapped you. Tell them whatever will get you into the least amount of trouble. But I can’t have you risking your life.”

“What better reason  _ is _ there to risk my life Crowley?!!” Aziraphale yelled, suddenly desperate, his hands gripping Crowley’s slender shoulders, his eyes staring wide and wild into Crowley’s. “Now you’re the one being stupid Crowley” Aziraphale continued, his voice softening. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me my darling. Life without you would feel cold and empty. I’ll go to the ends of the earth just for the chance to be with you as long as I possibly can.  _ I love you _ , you stubborn old lizard!” 

Crowley looked back at him in actual surprise. “You still love me… after seeing me as… as the beast again.” His voice was small and uncertain. 

“My feelings have not wavered one tiny little bit Crowley. I am still a besotted fool, utterly lost on your heart. And I’m coming with you.”

Crowley’s look grew resigned “Fine. But at the first sign of trouble, I want you to flee, if at all possible. Promise me,  _ promise me _ ” Crowley repeated fervently “that you’ll run if I am captured. Save yourself. You must promise me that” His eyes were fierce as they looked into Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale nodded “I promise” he said weakly.

“Fine then. It’s settled. We fly south and find a way to sneak into the palace on our own. It should only take a matter of hours. In the form of a dragon, it is quite easy for me to carry you. I am certain that your brother and his men will follow, perhaps with more soldiers in order to..” he looked down again, “to take care of me. But perhaps if we succeed in deposing Hastur, they can be swayed to our side”

Aziraphale nodded numbly. He could not imagine how they would succeed, but what else could they do? Disappear into the wilderness? Or run to the west or the east and hope to evade detection for the rest of their days. And what of Crowley’s people? Crowley’s lands, being slowly sucked dry and tormented by this sadistic priest? They had to do something, and if they died trying? Well, at least they would die together. 

“When shall we fly?” He asked, his voice shaking with trepidation despite himself. 

“Now my dear angel. We must go now, for your brother is most likely only an hour or so behind us at this point” His eyes grew sad for a moment “Please turn around so you don’t have to see my transformation.”

“Nonsense” replied Aziraphale. “I love you, and that means I love  _ all of you _ , the man, and the dragon. Though to be perfectly honest..” here he smiled slyly at Crowley through his lashes “I’d much prefer to share a bed with you as a man”

Crowley smiled in return, their predicament apparently forgotten momentarily in the face of his deep fondness for Aziraphale. He took Aziraphale into his arms and kissed him gently. “Very well my love” he replied. “Though I don’t like you seeing this. If you insist”

“I do” replied Aziraphale, and taking the cloak Crowley shrugged off and handed him, he took a few, swift steps back to give Crowley room. 

He saw as a look of concentration passed over Crowley’s features, and it was as if the man before him...exploded... blew outwards by some great force, his skin dissolving, his neck elongating, his wings unfurling. Soon, all that was human of Crowley was gone. Only the color of his eyes and the color of his red underbelly remained the same. Before Aziraphale sat the massive, winged reptile that was also his true love. He took in a sharp breath at the suddenness and violent nature of the transformation, but recovered quickly.

*I told you it was not pretty* spoke Crowley in his mind. 

“It is fine my dear” Aziraphale replied out loud. “You are actually quite beautiful in either form. Now.. how should we..?”

Crowley flapped his great, leathery wings and lept into the air before swooping down to scoop Aziraphale up gently in his scaly arms. Aziraphale let out a little startled yelp and heard Crowley’s voice in his mind, apologetic *I am sorry angel. I am unused to picking up passengers*

Aizraphale would have reassured him, but he doubted Crowley would hear him above the rush of wind as they sped upwards. He felt his stomach drop sickeningly for a moment as the clearing shrank swiftly beneath them. Crowely had him wrapped in his strong, relatively short front legs, one arm under Aziraphale’s knees, the other wrapping around his shoulders, carrying him as if he were a small child, rather than a full grown man. This was far better than hanging from his armpits as he had on their first short and desperate flight from Manor Fell. Aziraphale was impressed anew by Crowley’s incredible strength. He pressed his head against the vast, scaled front of Crowley’s dragon’s chest and was shocked and pleased to feel a steady, thumping heartbeat. Crowley’s dragon’s heart, pounding away rhythmically beneath his ear. It was a very soothing sound, and Aziraphale left his face pressed and listening to it to calm his nerves and they flew up and up. 

Luckily, the air warmed as they flew further south, and Aziraphale was clothed for a cold journey, because the air this high up was quite frigid. Aziraphale marveled at the tiny trees and tiny houses that flew by underneath them. Though it was daylight, he supposed there was little they could do to disguise themselves, and little anyone who saw them could do to impede their journey, high up as they were. 

Their only company came (briefly) in the form of a black crow that circled widely around them as they flew. Aziraphale, looking up at Crowley’s long neck and angular head from his vantage point below, had just enough time to see Crowley’s head swivel towards the crow before they suddenly banked to the side and Crowley’s great, big, fang filled mouth snapped. The crow was gone in a flurry of feathers, leaving Aziraphale a tad shocked at the sudden violence of the act. 

*I did not want you to see that angel* came Crowley’s voice in his mind a moment later *it is only that I did not like the look of that bird. It had the feel of magic about it. Also..* and here, his dragon voice took on a slight humorous tone, * _ I was hungry _ *

Aziraphale smiled despite himself. Crowley’s dark, cynical sense of humor was just another reason why he loved the enchanted man so very much. He supposed Crowely swallowing animals whole was a thing he’d have to grow used to. It was far more humane than what his brothers did after all. It was beast eating beast. Not man, sadistically hunting and playing with beast as his brothers enjoyed doing.

They flew for several hours, Aziraphale even dozing a little bit, lulled by his exhaustion from the emotional day and the rhythmic whooshing sounds of Crowley’s wings, beating above him, and the strong and steady beat of his heart. 

He woke with a start as Crowley gently lowered them to the ground, this time in another clearing, but one far different from the one from which they’d departed in the north. The air was thick and very warm. Warmer than Aziraphale had ever felt before in his life. It clung to him wetly, and as soon as he had his feet under him, he stripped off his coat and gloves and hat, and then his thick tunic so that he was in only his hose and undershirt. Crowley immediately moved away from him and shrank, with a complex slip of scales and wings, back into the form of a man. After they embraced, Aziraphale wrapping the slender, copper haired man tightly in his arms, to reassure himself that his human love had in fact returned, he quickly offered Crowley his tunic, which the other man gratefully accepted. It came down to below his knees and served well to cover up his nudity. 

“I hope this won’t be too warm for you my dear” Aziraphale fretted, he himself already sweating uncomfortably in the southern heat. 

“Not at all” Crowley grinned at him. “I am not only a southern man in my blood, but I am also...um…well,.... a reptile as it were. Cold blooded. I adore the heat.”

“I wish I could agree with you” Aziraphale wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked around him at the dark forest that surrounded them. He could see the flash of mysterious glowing eyes blinking in the darkness, and could hear strange noises he’d never heard before. “My..” he said, a bit breathless with apprehension. “Your southern forests certainly are.. Alive”

“Have no fear angel” Crowley replied, stepping close and kissing Aziraphale swiftly on the lips in a way that nevertheless made him momentarily forget the fecund darkness that swarmed around their small clearing. “Animals fear me, whether I appear as a man or a beast. They can sense that something is amiss and that I am a predator. They won’t approach.” 

Together they gathered fallen branches, the ones that were not wet with dew or covered in damp moss, and build a small fire. “We can wait here for a while as it is early evening. I want to approach the castle in the early morning hours, when everyone will be asleep. Perhaps priest Hastur will be asleep as well. Though I have a feeling he knows that I am near. He surely has spies watching the lands approaching the palace.” Aziraphale thought again of the crow Crowley had snapped out of the air with his teeth, and wondered if this were one of the spies Crowley mentioned.

“Crowley, what are we to do if and when we gain entry to the palace? Surely we won’t be allowed to simply waltz our way into Hastur’s chambers. He’ll have guards won’t he?”

“Likely yes. I was hoping to find a way to sneak past them. We should approach the secret entrance to the palace from the south, as the large, main gates face north. It is a small door, long forgotten, overgrown with ivy. I used to sneak out to the forrest to play by way of that small door. It opens into one of the rarely used courtyards of my mother’s inner rooms. Since she passed away, her rooms have been forgotten, and perhaps they still shall be. It is our only hope.”

Aziraphale nodded as he stared at the flames and absently twisted the ruby ring he still wore on his finger. He’d brought it in hopes that it would be useful. He also had a small knife hidden in his belt, sheathed in leather that could be used to defend himself in close, hand to hand combat. The fact that he knew nothing about hand to hand combat was worrisome, but it was all he had. His ring, his small knife and his dragon lover. He had to laugh a little at the thought (earning a suspicious glance from Crowley). He never could have imagined that this was the way his life would progress if he’d had a million years to think on it. That he’d be in this crawling, creeping, chirping forrest in the dark, by a fire with his flame haired, dragon-man lover, on a quest to depose a dark priest. It was like something from an adventure story in his library. He was a plump, middle aged priest. Not the typical star of such a tale. 

He had a brief moment to smile lovingly at Crowley across the fire before the attack came. 

Suddenly, they were surrounded by shadowy, screeching figures, long arms and black claws and glowing red eyes. Aziraphale felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as one of the things (he couldn’t get his wits around himself to get a good look at the creatures) had leapt onto his back and was digging it’s claws through the thin material of his shift and screeching in a high pitched scream into his ear. Another one had attached itself to Crowley’s leg and a third was climbing Crowley’s arm to swipe at his face with a wickedly sharp, clawed hand. 

They were black, spider-like, spindly things who’s forms were indistinct and jittery against the darkness of the forest. All Aziraphale’s panicked eyes could see were glowing eyes and gripping claws. He flailed out, yelling in alarm, reaching up to grasp at the thing that had attached itself to his shoulder. His hand came into contact with skin that felt slimy and slick. He gripped it by an appendage and pulled hard, crying out at the creature’s claws digging in deeper to the meat of his shoulder. 

He stumbled away from the fire and had the wherewithal to reach for the knife at his waist. He unsheathed it quickly and stabbed up into the face of the thing that clung to him. He heard it scream again, a satisfying sound, and felt it’s claws loosen ,and felt it fall away from him. Crowley meanwhile had grabbed a flaming brand from the fire and was striking at the creature that still clung to his leg. It screeched pathetically and recoiled from the flames, as did the one near his face. He swung at it wildly as Aziraphale, breathless and heart hammering in his chest wirled, looking for the next creature. 

For a moment, it seemed as if the attack had ended, until Crowley raised the flaming brand above his head and they could see the forest floor, crawling with the black, spindly things. Tens of pairs red eyes blinked back at them from the darkness. They were poised, clearly afraid of the fire in Crowley’s hand, but gaining in confidence as they slowly crept closer. 

“Darling” Aziraphale said in a horse whisper, not daring to take his eyes off the advancing hoard of monstrous creatures currently crawling closer to them. “Might this be a good time to… erm… transform?”

“If I do” Crowley responded in a careful tone “We’ll announce our presence here for sure. These … things might have been tripped off automatically. From what I remember of my uncle, he had a fondness for trip wires and traps in the forests around the castle. I forgot about them in the intervening decades. A mistake I shan’t make again. If so, becoming the dragon would immediately alert everyone within a five mile distance of our presence.”

“Quite right” Aziraphale responded. His heart in his throat. His mind racing. Crowley was swinging wildly about with the burning branch and it kept the creatures at bay. “At the very least, I can make that fire larger” he said in warning, then concentrated on the image of a flaring ember in his mind and the campfire as well as the fire on the flaming branch Crowley held in his hand flared in response. “That should buy us a couple of minutes” he said, voice tight. 

Still, as the fire naturally wore down again after a few minutes, the creatures approached again. He saw Crowley’s eyes flash to his with fear deep inside them, and then… then, Crowley did something insane. He dropped the flaming branch, pulled Aziraphale’s tunic up and over his head and stepped nude… into the campfire. 

Aziraphale had only a brief moment to yell out a warning before Crowley stood, wreathed in flames, his feet among the burning coals and shattered, glowing branches of the small campfire. His whole body was consumed in bright flames that licked up his arms and legs and curled into his hair. At first, Aziraphale thought his love had thrown away his life, he heard a scream of anguish leave his throat, but soon, soon he could see that Crowley was unharmed. Unharmed and standing in a pillar of flame. 

“What?” His brain couldn’t quite process this unbelievable turn of events. He watched in stunned awe as Crowley stepped from the flames and advanced menacingly on the hoard of creatures that twitched and juddered in the darkness around their camp. The creatures screamed as one, and shrank back from the flaming man as he advanced, arms spread wide. The creatures scrambled out of his way, squealing and scrabbling to escape Crowley. 

Aziraphale breathed out in wonder, not even noticing as several of the creatures brushed past him and galloped disjointedly away into the forest. Crowley stayed miraculously unharmed, advancing like a blazing god of war, his hair taking on the color and shape of the flames, his arms encircled by yellow and orange flickering light and intense heat. Soon, the last of the creatures had fled. 

Crowley turned back to face Aziraphale and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his handsome love wreathed in bright flame, yellow eyes blazing, face set in a grim determined mask. “Crowley” he breathed. “What… what did you do?”

The flames immediately shrank and extinguished, leaving behind a normal, if somewhat smoky Crowley. He gave Aziraphale a sheepish, regretful look. “I suppose I should have told you that fire cannot harm me, that I can pull it to me and take it about me like a cloak.” he said ruefully. “It’s another positive side effect to living a life under a dark curse. I wouldn’t be a very good dragon if I could singe myself on my own flames would I?”

Aziraphale, recovering from his shock at seeing his lover nearly immolated, rushed to him, pausing only momentarily to ascertain if he were hot to the touch. When a gentle hand to Crowley’s cheek determined that he was only a little warmer than usual, Aziraphale wrapped his arms tightly around Crowley and pulled him close. 

“I thought you had thrown away your life!” he yelled into Crowley’s hair, gripping him even tighter. “I thought I had lost you”

“I”m sorry angel. I’m so sorry. I have no more secrets from you. No more things about myself that I haven’t told you.” He rocked Aziraphale back and forth gently. “I would have told you about this one thing, but it sort of.. Never came up as it were”

He gently disengaged from Aziraphale and kissed him lovingly on the lips before going in search of the abandoned tunic. “I’ve spent far too much time naked in the forest today” he said while pulling the tunic back over his head. 

After that, they both settled down by the fire again. Close together this time. Crowley helped Aziraphale pull off his shirt and poured some water from a small flask Aziraphale had had stowed in his belt, into the shallow puncture wounds on his shoulder from the beast’s claws. Aziraphale winced in response. The cuts weren’t that serious, which was a blessing. The last thing he needed was to bleed to death in a dark, southern forest, less than a mile from their destination. After he put his stained and ripped undershirt back on, Crowley wrapped him up in his lanky arms and the two held each other by the fire for a long time. 

“In a few hours, if my memory of southern constellations is still what it was, we can approach the palace.” Crowley said quietly into Aziraphale’s hair. “We’ll have to make a wide circle to the south and approach from that direction. 

“Will those things return?” Aziraphale did not relish the idea. 

“Who knows?” Crowley replied, tightening his grip on Aziraphale. “Perhaps they’ve learned their lesson. We can hope their cowardice keeps them away.”

Aziraphale dozed briefly in Crowley’s arms, leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder, only to be woken with a gentle shake some time later. “Angel. Wake up” Crowley pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s brow as Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open. He was gripped suddenly with fear

“The creatures!” he rasped out, darting his eyes this way and that, trying to sense attack coming at them from the darkened forest.

“Be still my angel. They have not returned. It seems I am quite intimidating when completely set ablaze” He smiled at Aziraphale, who felt himself slowly relax. 

“It’s time to go” Crowley said, voice grave. 

Aziraphale stood slowly, then pulled Crowley up with him, his hands going swiftly to frame Crowley’s face so he could gaze into the other man’s eyes. “Whatever happens next” he said, his voice low and serious. “I want you to know that I love you fiercely. Completely. Meeting you has been… has been .. “ he stammered to a stop, emotion rushing up to take his words away in a swell in his throat. 

“Angel. My angel.” Crowley replied, hands wrapping lovingly around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I know. And I feel the same way. I am glad you’re here with me. If we make it out of the palace alive, I plan on settling down with you in the most disgustingly sentimental, domestic way possible. I shan’t leave your side and you shall grow oh so tired of me” His eyes were smiling in his serious face as he spoke. 

Aziraphale took a shaky sigh. “I will never tire of you dearest” he replied, and then kissed Crowley with all the urgent love he felt in his heart. 

They broke apart, breathless and glassy eyed a minute later, and Aziraphale gazed longingly into Crowley’s eyes for just a moment longer before Crowley turned and led them into the forest, heading south. 


	11. Chapter 11

They walked through the dark forest with only the ring for light. It was slow going as the underbrush was thick and full of unknown plants. Some of them tore at Aziraphale’s hose with stickers and thorns. Some slapped wetly against his shins or whacked into his shoulder with leaves so broad and heavy they resembled the shields his brothers wore into battle. After about an hour’s walk, he was sick of it. Crowley however seemed relatively comfortable. He lead the way, trying to hold branches and large fronds out of Aziraphale’s path as he walked through the lush forest. He was obviously more accustomed to the heat and the dampness and the constant, chirping, whirring, screeching noises that erupted around them at regular intervals as they walked. His eyes too seemed to have no trouble seeing in the darkness. Aziraphale however could not see farther than the red light of the ring. 

By the end of the second hour, Aziraphale, unaccustomed to this much physical labor in the super heated damp darkness of the southern forest was exhausted, covered with scratches and drenched. Crowley looked like he had barely broken a sweat, his hair even still looked well ordered as they slowly crept through the thinning trees and could finally see the palace. Its gleaming marble spires rising into the dark early morning sky, shining dully under a half moon, that shone much brighter out here in the open then deep under the canopy of the verdant southern forests they’d just tramped through. The palace was several hundred yards away, down a sloping, once manicured lawn. Now it was overgrown with various types undergrowth, but mercifully free of giant-leafed trees. Crowley paused for a moment, turning to look at Aziraphale, checking up on him. “How are you faring angel?” he asked, worry in his tone when he saw what was probably the frightful state of Aziraphale’s clothing and sweat damp hair and scratched face. 

“I won’t lie dearest. I’m not happy. I was made for snow drifts and icy winds, not this infernal heat,... but I’ll survive.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re here” Crowley’s grin as it spread charmingly across his handsome face made the situation seem suddenly more bearable. “We have to proceed with caution from here on out. The door I spoke of is down this hill, and under that balcony there. Can you see it? The shadowy place under that marble outcropping there?”

Aziraphale squinted, and could indeed make out the shadowy patch that Crowley pointed to. There was a wall of perhaps ten feet surrounding the palace, and then a courtyard of sorts that ran the length of the back of the palace, and beyond that, there were the ground floor rooms and the balconies for rooms on the second floor. The palace appeared to have six floors, if Aziraphale’s counting of the balconies was any indication. They grasped hands and started slowly down the hill. The back part of the building was indeed dark, unlike the front entrance, which blazed with torches, which helped them to avoid detection, though Crowley worried about Aziraphale’s bright white hair and both of their white skin, standing out in the darkness. He had to hope no one was occupying the dark, back rooms, or at the least, that no one was looking out the window into an overgrown field. 

They’d caught glimpses of the light from the front entrance through the thick trees on their walk south and around the rear of the great building. The back, by comparison was closed off and dark. When they had made it partway down the hill towards the palace, Crowley pulled them to a halt and indicated to Aziraphale soundlessly to refrain from speaking out loud, and to sink down with him to crouch in the underbrush. They both watched as a pair of palace guards walked their way along the wall that separated them from the courtyard. They carried a pair of torches with them, and their walk was stiff and military in it’s execution. 

As they disappeared again around the corner that curved towards the front of the palace, Aziraphale made as if to stand again, but Crowley pulled him back down and whispered “We need to wait to see how long it takes them to come back around”. Aziraphale nodded in understanding. They needed to know how much time they had. 

“How are we to clear the wall?” Aziraphale asked

“I’m not sure” Crowley shrugged, and Aziaphale felt cold dread coil in his belly

“You mean to tell me you don’t actually have a  _ plan  _ for what to do?” Aziraphale hissed, his head turning to fix Crowley with an incredulous stare. 

“No angel, I don’t!” Crowley hissed back. “My  _ plan _ was to have your brothers along with their military experience and swords and bows and spears, not just the two of us!”

Aziraphale softened immediately. “I’m sorry” he whispered, putting a hand on Crowley’s tunic clad shoulder. “My second guesses are not helping the situation”

The ring flared on his finger briefly and he cursed, turning it inwards towards his palm, so that he could hide its light. It’s interruption into their conversation however gave him an idea. It was a risk, something he’d never done before, but it just might work. 

“I think I know how to get us over the wall” he whispered to Crowley. “But if it doesn’t work, we’ll be left exposed.”

He whispered his plan to Crowley. It would necessitate them making their way to a part of the wall with a large ivy bush climbing it. The ivy was not thick or sturdy enough to be used as a ladder to climb over the wall, but it would serve to cover up what Aziraphale was planning. Crowley nodded in agreement, looking impressed, and Aziraphale hoped he wasn’t placing his faith in him needlessly. 

The guards came back around. “That took about fifteen minutes” Crowley said in a low voice. “Plenty of time. Come on angel”. As the guards disappeared again, The two of them made their way swiftly down the rest of the hill to the base of the palace wall. It looked higher up close than Aziraphale thought it was from a distance, and his belief in himself was shaken momentarily as he looked up at the white expanse of wall, rising above them into the early morning sky. But he swallowed his fear and lead Crowley to the massive ivy bush. It was thick and wild, untrimmed and unruly. He hunkered down as close as he could to the bush, took a deep breath and thrust the fingers of both hands into the thick, warm earth at the base of the wall. He made sure to worm his questing fingers as deeply as he could in the dirt, then closed his eyes and concentrated. He brought up an image in his mind and concentrated with all his might, eyes squeezed shut. 

He could feel the magic working, could feel the earth moving under his fingers. He also heard Crowley gasp in surprise, and so he withdrew his hands from the soil and opened his eyes. Before them stood a… bridge was too sophisticated a word for the large, sloping pile of dirt and weeds that had risen from the ground against the wall. But it was sturdy, tightly packed and would be easy enough to use to clammer their way to the top of the wall and over. Even better, the large ivy bush would serve as camouflage to hide what they’d done, at least from the casual eyes of the guards. Crowley quickly ascended, walking up the steep pile of earth, and Aziraphale followed, far more slowly and clumsily. He was sweating profusely when he reached the top, and mentally kicked himself for not taking more walks in his long life of reading and kneeling at altars. They both made their way over the top and dropped to the ground, Crowley in a lithe crouch, Aziraphale falling over in a heap, on the other side. Crowley rushed to help Aziraphale up, and gave him a once over with his slender fingers to test for broken bones.

“I’m fine my dear” Aziraphale whispered to him, breathlessly, dusting himself off. 

“You’re a powerful magician” Crowley replied with a sly grin. “I am duly impressed angel”

Aziraphale waved away Crowley’s praise, “What’s next?” he asked. 

“Come. Let us see if this door is still here and if we may enter that way” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and pulled him towards the shadowy doorway several feet away. Aziraphale wondered why there were no guards in the inner courtyard, but then realized there may have been, but that they could be anywhere along their walk of the grounds. Knowing their time was limited, he rushed with Crowley to the small, dark doorway beneath the second floor balcony. True to his memory, the door was indeed covered with ivy. So much that one would mistake it for just another part of the wall of the palace if one didn’t know any better. 

Crowley swiftly examined the edges of the door and found a handle and pulled. They both heard a tearing of ivy branches and a low scraping sound and the door opened a few feet. Nothing but darkness awaited them beyond it. Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze and then stepped through, brushing ivy leaves away from his face as he did so. Aziraphale followed. 

On the other side, they stood in a dark room. The ring flared helpfully, giving them an eerie red glow by which to see the shadowy lumps of furniture in what looked like a bedroom. Crowley shut the door behind them, it closed with a soft rasping noise, which left them in darkness but for the ring’s light. 

“This was the room of one of my mother’s handmaids” Crowley whispered, close to his ear. Aziraphale raised his hand cautiously, lifting the ring, and both of them could see that the bed lay empty, covered with what appeared to be a thick layer of dust. “This is good angel” Crowley whispered. “My hunch was correct. No one has used these rooms since I was a child”. 

Together they crept through the silent bedroom towards the doorway. Crowley slowly eased the long unused door open with a terrifying creak of rusted hinges. They both froze, listening for approaching guardsmen. After a long moment, punctuated only by the banging of Aziraphale’s heart in his ears, they could tell no one was coming. The maid’s room opened into a short hallway, flanked by three more doors. “Each of these is for a different lady’s maid, the one closest to the main hallway is,... was my mother’s” Crowley explained in a hushed voice.

Together, hands clasped and palms sweaty, they crept from the room and out into the short hallway. At the end of the hall, it bisected with a main artery of the palace, a large, echoey hallway. The marble walls were bare and gleaming. The stone floors were empty. 

“Why are there no people?” Aziraphale whispered, pressing against Crowley’s back as they peered around the corner to look down the hall in both directions. Even this early in the morning, he’d been certain they’d need to dodge a few servants.

“I’m not sure” Crowley replied, careful to keep his voice soft and low “These rooms lay unused for a long time. Perhaps this whole back wing of the palace has fallen into neglect?” Cautiously, and feeling incredibly exposed, they made their way down the hallway. After a few yards, it bisected with yet another hallway. 

“Which direction?” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. 

“This way” he jerked his head to the left. Aziraphale didn’t take the time to ask how he knew, but soon enough, it became apparent without him having to be told. He could feel Hastur’s dark pull from within the heart of the palace. He was a priest, yes, but also one who had worked small magics his whole life. And Crowley, being bound to Hastur by way of the dragon’s curse, must have been able to feel that pull more sharply than Aziraphale himself. It was a strange sensation, as if dark tendrils were reaching out and tugging at his hands and feet, pulling him in the direction of Hastur. The tendrils, the forces Aziraphale could faintly sense were not the same force he felt bloom inside him when he worked some small, household magic or helpful spell. It was oily feeling. Sickly.

They rushed down the next deserted hallway, and then the next. Aziraphale started to feel a cold knot of dread make its way to the center of his chest. Something was very wrong. There should have been at least a few people. Servants. Other nobles. Someone. And yet, the hallways were deserted. 

He was on the verge of stopping Crowley and voicing his concern, when they saw a glimmer of light from a slightly open doorway further up the hall to their right. “He must be in there” Crowley whispered, determination and anger mixing in his hushed tone.

“Crowley.. I think something is wrong” Aziraphale pulled Crowley around to face him, keeping half of his attention on the hallway over Crowley’s shoulder where a golden light spilled out from a slightly ajar door to splash onto the stone floor tiles a few yards away. “This is too easy. It must be some sort of a trap”

Crowley brought his hands up to frame Aziraphale’s face, his eyes growing fierce “Than you must flee, back the way we came” he whispered intently. 

“No Crowley. No. I won’t leave your side” Aziraphale was as adamant as he could be in a hushed whisper.

“But you  _ promised _ ” Crowley hissed, his grip on Aziraphale’s face tightening, his eyes going anguished. “You promised” he whispered softly, giving Aziraphale’s head a gentle shake for emphasis. 

“Well, it seems I am a promise-breaker then. You know us northern priests. Shifty. Not to be trusted” 

Crowley refused to smile at Aziraphale’s attempt to distract him and lighten the mood. “Look angel, even if this  _ is _ a trap, then there’s nothing I can do about it. I need to confront him. I need to try and end him. If I don’t, I know that I’ll live out the rest of my days as a slave and an outcast. He’ll have won and he’ll destroy this kingdom. He’ll hurt so many more innocent people. I have to try”

Aziraphale nodded. “And I’m coming with you”

Crowley nodded back, though he didn’t look happy. He pulled Aziraphale in for a brief, fierce kiss, then together they turned and approached the partially lit doorway. Aziraphale’s heart was pounding with fear, and he could feel Crowley’s pulse in the hand he gripped, beating away at the same speed. Crowley peered carefully around the door, then pulled Aziraphale in after him as he pushed the door open and entered. They’d walking into a large bed chamber. A vast marble floor swept before them, the high ceiling held up by several marble columns. It was a sparsely decorated room, with only one piece of furniture. A large bed. 

On that bed, a figure lay, covered in a pale sheet, breathing as if asleep. It had to be Hastur, though it was hard to tell from this distance with his eyes, Aziraphale could  _ feel _ the dark currents coalesce around the form on the bed, and he knew it must be the evil priest. Why then would they be allowed to get this close? His feeling of dread increased as they stepped quietly, cautiously further into the room. 

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost missed the door shutting softly behind them. He whirled around to look behind them, then just had time to look back to meet Crowley’s surprised yellow eyes before they both heard a low, cackling laugh bubble up from the figure that was now rising from the bed. 

Everything happened swiftly after that. He saw that look of concentration cross Crowley’s face. The look he was growing accustomed to now, that signaled his transformation into his dragon form. And then… 

Nothing. Nothing happened. Crowley opened his eyes, seeming shocked to find himself still inhabiting the body of a man, his eyes flitted up to find Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale saw fear reflected in their yellow depths, and then... Crowley’s body flew backwards. He was pulled off his feet and back as if blown by a fierce wind. He hit the door behind them with enough force to rattle it on its hinges, then slid slowly to the ground, limp and motionless. 

Aziraphale let out a yelp of surprised terror, his eyes flying from Crowley’s still form, back to Hastur’s bed. He tried to turn back, to go after Crowley, but to his dismay, he found that he couldn’t move. His head and limbs were stuck in place, as if frozen in the thick ice of a northern lake. His realization was accompanied by another deep cackle of derisive laughter from the direction of the bed. Aziraphale watched in horror as Hastur, fully dressed in a dark robe, rose from the bed as if floating on the air like a piece of dandelion fluff. The sheet fell away as Hastur drifted upwards and slowly moved towards Aziraphale, his sandalled feet floating inches above the marble floors. He was even more unsettling to look upon than Aziraphale had imagined. His pale hair, perhaps a white blond like Aziraphale’s, or the silver of old age.. It was hard to tell in the light from the torches that burned in the bedroom wall sconces, was ragged and lank. It fell about his face, to his shoulders in filthy clumps. His eyes were like black coals in a sickly-pale face covered with what Aziraphale soon saw were boils and pustules. Dark blisters clustered around his eyes and mouth, making him a horrifying ghoul of a man.

Aziraphale felt dread bloom inside his chest at the sight of this ghostly, repulsive apparition floating towards him. His breath was coming in swift, panicked gasps. He desperately wanted to go to Crowley, to turn his head to see Crowley where he no doubt still lay, motionless and unconscious against the door behind them, but try as he might, he could not force his head to move, nor his arms and legs to twitch even a centimeter under his own control. 

Haster drifted to within a few feet of Aziraphale and then alighted, his feet touching down onto the marble tiles of the floor with a surprising grace for such a hideous man. “Hello priest” he said, in a voice that rasped and cracked and broke. “Welcome to my palace”

Aziraphale couldn’t respond, panic choked his words in his throat, so he simply stood there, fear sweat dripping from every poor, his wide hazel eyes fixed on Hastur’s black orbs, unable to look away. 

“So nice of you to bring my nephew home for a visit” Hastur said, conversationally, his casual tone somehow making this whole situation more terrifying. 

Aziraphale saw Hastur flick his fingers and he heard a groan come from Crowley behind him. 

“Don’t hurt him!” he gasped out, surprising himself with his sudden ability to speak past the fear that gripped his chest. 

Hastur smiled. The positive expression a strange dichotomy with the hideousness of his features. “Hurt him? Well _ of course _ I’m going to  _ hurt _ him, you foolish man. I’m going to  _ kill _ him.” Here he paused for a moment, probably to enjoy the look of anguish that had painted itself across Aziraphale’s face. 

“I plan to kill him, and I plan to let you watch me do it dear priest, and then I plan to kill you as well”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok folks. Things get really rough in this chapter. Torture. Body mutilation. Nothing too graphic, but just know, it gets pretty heavy. Don't worry! I smooth it all over with fluffy goodness in the end.. even if it doesn't seem like that's possible, so hang in there please!

Aziraphale could only stare at Hastur’s hideous, gleeful face as the evil priest crooked a finger and Crowley was dragged over by an unseen force from where he’d lain by the door. Aziraphale could sense him, and see him out of the corner of his eye, but since Aziraphale couldn’t move, he couldn’t look directly at him. Crowley seemed to be kneeling, one hand supporting him against the floor, his other hand over his face. It was driving Aziraphale insane not to be able to see him, or to move, to kneel by his side and check if he were alright. 

He could see Hastur though, his face suffused with a malevolent glee as he looked down at where Crowley knelt on the floor. “Well hello nephew” he said “So nice of you to drop in. I trust your journey went well”

“Rot in hell you piece of filth” came Crowley’s muffled reply. His voice sounded pained, thick and slurred slightly, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched at the sound of it. Why must he goad Hastur? That would only invite the priest’s wrath. 

Surprisingly, the priest only laughed. “I see you haven’t lost your spark Anthony.” He replied. “You always were a foul mouthed, disobedient whelp.”

“Disobedient to  _ you _ , you mean. I only obeyed those I respected and you were never anyone I respected” Crowley hissed out. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was desperate to make Crowley stop insulting the lank haired, repulsive man before him. “Please Crowley. Stop”

“Listen to your friend” Hastur smirked. “He’s wiser than you are. You really should know when to shut your mouth.”

Crowley didn’t stop speaking, but at least he stopped hurling insults at Hastur from his position on the floor. “What have you done to me?” he asked

“Surprised that you can’t take the form of the dragon? Was that your little plan? Sneak in here and rip me apart with your fangs? Well, I’m sorry Anthony but I’d be the world’s biggest fool if I were to let you do your little magic trick here in my chambers. If it makes you feel any better” Hastur continued, grinning, obviously pleased with himself, “You could never have used the dragon against me. I made sure of that when I first put the curse on you. You may have thought it was just a poisoned drink, but no my nephew. No. It took months of preparation, months of work with the dark arts before I could ensure that you’d spend the rest of your life as half-human. It’s not reversible, and it won’t work on me.” He was so smug that Aziraphale longed to be free so that he could throw himself at Hastur. 

“You heartless bastard” Crowley spat out. Aziraphale cringed. 

“You are quite right” Hastur replied. “I am indeed heartless. I look forward to showing just how heartless I can be” He snapped his fingers and Crowley stood upright, jerkily, like a puppet on a string, clearly not in control of his own limbs, and walked unsteadily toward Hastur. Luckily, he walked in front of Aziraphale to reach the priest, and now Aziraphale could see Crowley clearly. Unfortunately, he looked a state, blood oozing from a gash in the back of his head to color his copper hair dark red. He looked small and helpless in Aziraphale’s tunic, his feet bare and covered with dirt from the forest floor. He walked to stand next to Hastur, trembling. Both of them were now facing Aziraphale. 

Hastur smiled again, showing off a row of blackened teeth. He reached behind him and his hand came back gripping the hilt of a large knife. He kept the knife to his right, out of Crowley’s line of vision, but well within Aziraphale’s sight. 

“Crowley” Aziraphale breathed, his throat going dry, tears pooling in his eyes and making his vision blurry. “Crowley.. He has a knife”. Crowley’s face grew tense with fear. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale realized the game Hastur was playing. He could do things that Crowley couldn’t see, but that Aziraphale could, he could give Aziraphale forewarning of the bad things he planned to do to Crowley, but keep Crowley in the dark. Unless of course, Aziraphale told him. 

His face must have changed then, for Hastur let loose a low, threatening cackle of laughter. “The priest understands! Don’t you you pale, northern bumpkin? You see now how I’m giving you the gift of watching your friend die. Of watching him see his fate reflected in your eyes. Oh, this is going to be such fun!”

“Angel! Close your eyes!” Crowley begged “Don’t give him the satisfaction!”

The moment the words were out of his mouth though, Crowley must have realized his mistake. He flinched in instant regret. 

“Angel?” Hastur’s eyes seemed to glow with mischief. “Angel? What a strange name to give a stuffy northern priest. It seems so… I don’t know… intimate?”

“No” Crowley said weakly “Please don’t”   
  
Hastur ignored him “Could it be…hmmm” Hastur was playing a role now, reveling in his sadistic game. “Angel sounds like a term of  _ endearment _ to me” he said. 

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. The evil priest had not known they were romantically involved. He must have thought they were just friends, companions.  _ Oh dear gods no _ he thought desperately.  _ Please Liyurna save me from this nightmare.  _ But he was far away from his gods, and he doubted they could hear him. Instead, he focused his attention on Hastur’s face, knowing his fate could be read there in the priest’s hideous features. 

“Angel…” Hastur repeated the word, savoring as he would a sip of good wine. “It sounds like something a  _ lover _ would say.”

Crowley’s face was a mask of rage “I’ll kill you Hastur. I’ll find a way to kill you. You’ll die with my hands around your throat.”

“He’s your lover isn’t he?” Hastur now turned to look at Crowley directly for the first time since he’d forced the prince to walk over to him. He stepped back and to the side so that he could see both men, frozen, standing across from each other, and so both Aziraphale and Crowley could see him. “Isn’t he?” he asked Crowley. 

Crowley refused to speak. 

“Your silence is as loud as any confession nephew. Clearly you’re besotted with this doughy, homespun bumpkin from the north. I must say. I am shocked. I remember your trysts with the palace servant’s sons when you were young. You always chose such  _ beautiful _ boys to play with. Your standards have clearly dropped.”    
  
“Don’t listen to him Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, his eyes desperate, searching Aziraphale’s face. “Don’t listen to a word this disgusting worm has to say”

“Oh this is just lovely” Hastur cooed happily. “Forcing a man to watch the death of his dear friend is one thing. Forcing him to watch the death of his _lover_… well, that is much more interesting.”

Aziraphale’s breath was coming in shallow gasps. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mouth dry as a desert. He was full of panic but he struggled to calm himself for Crowley’s sake. He let his eyes meet Crowley’s and forced himself to smile a weak, humorless smile.  _ I love you _ he mouthed the words. Crowley saw this and tears began to tumble down his cheeks. 

_ I love you too,  _ he mouthed back soundlessly

“Isn’t this touching?” Hastur’s rasping voice cut in, but neither of them gave him any mind. Aziraphale kept Crowley’s eyes locked with his own. They made a silent pact then.  _ Only look at me. Only me. Not at anything else _ . He saw Crowley nod imperceptibly and he wondered that even in his human form that he and Crowley could still speak without words. 

Hastur moved at the edge of Aziraphale’s vision. He saw a flash of metal in his peripheral vision and then saw Crowley’s face squeeze shut in pain and watched and heard him scream in anguish. Hastur must have cut him. True to their promise though, Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on Crowley’s face, his jaw clenched shut, refusing to look at whatever it was that Hastur had just done to Crowley. 

Crowley too stuck to their agreement and when he could gain control of his face again, he immediately locked eyes with Aziraphale. His eyes were full of anguish and tears were flowing freely down his cheeks, but he held Aziraphale’s gaze as steadily as he could. 

Hastur seemed to have caught on. “You think you can make this easier?” He asked, his voice a gravely whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. He had crept closer when Aziraphale was unaware of it, so focused was he on keeping his eyes locked to Crowley’s. The man’s breath smelled of feces and rot. Aziraphale forced down an urge to retch. “You won’t be able to make this easier” he whispered. “I’ll make certain he dies in front of you. I’ll make certain you see all of it.”

______________________________________________________________

Aziraphale had no idea how much time had passed. All of his attention had been on Crowley’s face and Crowley’s eyes. Every time Hastur cut him, stabbed at him, sliced at his skin, Crowley’s eyes would tighten, or he’d moan or scream in pain, and Aziraphale watched Crowley’s beautiful yellow eyes and refused to look at anything Hastur was doing to him. Crowley must have been weak from blood loss, his face was pale and ashen. He looked to no longer be using any of his own muscle strength to keep himself standing. Aziraphale thought he had cried all the tears he possessed, had screamed his throat raw. 

A part of him, deep inside was changing, and he could feel it. A part of him was growing numb and cold, yet also fierce and burning hot, deep in the pit of his stomach. He still could not move. He could only cry and keep Crowley’s eyes held with his own. He’d begun begging relatively quickly when Hastur started hurting Crowley. Begging for Crowley’s life. Begging to be allowed to move, to go to him. Begging Hastur to stop. None of it did any good of course, but his conscious, rational mind had gone somewhere else. He was a creature of raw emotion and pain now. All he could see were Crowley’s eyes. 

He barely noticed that Hastur was speaking until he heard the words “I think it’s time I ended this little game”

“What? What? What do you mean? Please! Please no!” Aziraphale broke a promise to Crowely for the second time that night to look away from his love’s eyes, which were dull and barely open, to see Hastur step up swiftly behind Crowley, the knife brought up threateningly in his fist.    
  


“Perhaps you should say goodbye” Hastur said, sounding for all the world like someone suggesting that Aziraphale have an extra cup of tea. He was so horrifyingly casual. 

Before Aziraphale could say a word though, Hastur lifted the knife and plunged it into Crowley’s chest, right into his heart. Crowley dropped to the ground, at last released from Hastur’s spell of immobility to slouch bonelessly against the floor. 

Aziraphale heard a mindless, animal scream rip from the back of his throat at the sight of his love, lying dead in a heap on the floor before him. 

And then… then… something strange happened. Aziraphale realized that he had been holding back this whole time. Not just tonight, but for his entire life. He was always polite. Always giving. He stepped aside for his brothers' needs and put up with their bullying. He’d taken all their derisive talk and them putting him in a corner. He’d pushed Crowley away for so long, just so that he could be a ‘good priest’ and avoid temptation. He’d always been so patient and so careful. He held back all the time. But _Crowley_ did not. Crowley was a being of strong passions and desires. A man who said exactly what he thought and felt without fear. A beast who breathed fire and swallowed animals whole and took to the sky on massive wings to swoop among the clouds. Crowley, who was cursed to a half life… Crowley was _ free _ . 

Even tonight, Aziraphale had been holding back, to avoid making Hastur angry. Holding back to protect Crowley. He’d held back, and now Crowley was dead. 

Aziraphale had no reason to hold back anymore. Hold back what? He wasn’t sure, but he could feel it rising in him now.

He felt rage building swiftly inside him. Rage and that fierce, numb, burning sensation in his stomach that had built while Hastur had tortured Crowley, and by extension, Aziraphale. Aziraphale hadn’t known what the feeling meant. He’d been so overcome with panic and anguish and dread. But now, everything was very clear. Now his anger was a fierce, cold power in his gut. He looked Hastur in his obsidian eyes and said, in a voice that was utterly calm.

“You should not have done that”

Hastur only had a brief moment to look surprised before Aziraphale felt a massive swell of power, of tingling heat, spread from his stomach to his limbs and up into his face. The ring on his finger, somehow unnoticed by Hastur during this ordeal, flared brightly and Aziraphale was aware that he had started to glow with a fierce white light. He found that he was released suddenly from Hastur’s bindings and with a flick of his wrist, Hastur flew backwards and slid across the floor. The evil priest came up hard against the bottom edge of his bed, looking dazed at his sudden change of location. 

Aziraphale could feel lightening crackle between his fingers. He could feel power flowing through him in great surges. This was nothing like his small domestic magic tricks to help with the washing or the cooking. This was  _ real power _ and it flowed through him like waves of the great northern ocean. He was filled with cold rage, and he advanced on Hastur with a grim look on his face. 

“You killed my love” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his ears, as if it came from the very air around him and not from his small, human form. He didn’t bother saying anything else, only gestured upwards with a hand and Hastur found himself suddenly hoisted into the air by his neck. He struggled, like a worm on a hook, fingers clawing at the invisible noose around his throat, making strangled gasping noises as Aziraphale raised him slowly off the ground with just an outstretched hand. A hand that glowed with crackling blue-white light. 

Behind him, Aziraphale could hear the door burst open and slam against the wall. He could hear his own name yelled out. He dimly recognized Gabriel’s voice and he could hear men entering the room in a rush. He gave them no mind though. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Hastur, where he still twisted and squirmed in the grasp of Aziraphale’s cold magical grip. 

“You killed my love” he repeated. Then he gave another swift flick of his wrist. Hastur’s neck snapped in an instant and Aziraphale dropped his lifeless body to the ground. 

Aziraphale turned then to see that several men had entered the room and were standing there, staring dumbfounded at the scene they saw before them, of Crowley’s limp body and of Aziraphale standing over Hastur’s lifeless form, glowing and crackling with white lightening. His eyes must have been fearsome to behold, for when Aziraphale turned to look at his brothers and their men, they all took several rushed steps back, as if Aziraphale had just breathed fire at them. 

He ignored them for the moment and walked swiftly to where Crowley's body sat, slumped several feet away. He knelt at Crowley's side and gently laid his body out on the marble floor of Hastur’s bedroom and then he grasped Crowley’s face in his glowing hands. A distant part of his mind wept at the sight of Crowley, covered with cuts and gashes, his beautiful face ashen, the knife sticking up from his chest. He pushed his grief and fear down inside himself though and instead let his love for Crowley flow out, out from his heart, down his arms and into his hands, hands that were clasped to Crowley’s cold, gray face. 

“Come back my love” he said gently. “Come back to me”

He saw the knife in Crowley’s chest pull upwards and out, clattering to the floor beside them, and watched with fascination, as if from a distance as the wound it left behind closed itself, pulling the blood that had pooled on Crowley’s tunic back into the gash in his chest and knitted itself up to form smooth unpunctured skin. He watched as all the cuts and lacerations and gashes Hastur had wrought on his love’s body closed and healed slowly. Soon, Crowley was whole again. Whole and unharmed. 

“Come back dearest” Aziraphale heard himself repeat the words like an incantation. “Come back now darling”

He saw Crowley’s skin bloom with a healthy pink flush, saw the ashen color of bloodless death leech from him to be replaced with the normal pale color of Crowley’s face and arms and legs. And then, miracle of all miracles, Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath in. 

Aziraphale let the power leave him then in a rush. In its wake, his real, normal self flooded back in, and he bent to take Crowley in his arms and wept. He wept great, wracking sobs of relief as Crowley stirred in his arms and made an incoherent sound. 

“What… what.. Angel, what happened?” He groaned out, sounding half asleep. 

“Hello” Aziraphale pulled away and gazed down at Crowley’s warm, living face with tears pouring down his cheeks. His tears splashed against Crowley’s cheeks and chin and neck and Crowley looked confused and exhausted in equal measure. 

“Angel don’t cry” he said weakly, lifting a pale, long fingered hand up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “Don’t cry. I’m fine” He said, and pulled Aziraphale down into a gentle kiss. The broke apart shortly and Aziraphale wrapped Crowley in another fierce embrace and sat there, rocking him back and forth and sobbing happy tears. He pulled back from their embrace again to look down into Crowley’s beautiful eyes. “I killed him” he said by way of explanation, indicating Hastur’s body with a jerk of his head. “I killed him my love, he can’t harm you anymore”

Crowley’s eyes went wide with shock. “But… how…?” 

“I’ll tell you all about it later” Aziraphale smiled and embraced Crowley again, squeezing him so tightly that Crowley grunted a little in protest, though he didn’t loosen his arms around Aziraphale in the slightest.

It wasn’t for another minute or two that Aziraphale could hear the other men, shifting uncomfortably nearby, the sound of their armor and swords clanking gently as they walked to surround the two men embracing on the floor. 

“Brother” Gabriel’s voice sounded very strange indeed. Azirpahale pulled out of Crowley’s arms and tore his eyes away from Crowley’s face to look up at Gabriel. 

“Hello brother” he said, as if Gabriel had just come down to the great hall for breakfast. “It’s good to see you”

“Aziraphale… what… what is the meaning of all this?” Gabriel didn’t have his usual attitude of authority and condescension about him as he normally did when speaking to Aziraphale. He sounded confused and awe struck. 

Aziraphale gently lay Crowley back down to the floor, though he kept Crowley’s hand clasped in both of his own while he looked up to address his brother. “I’ve killed the evil priest brother. The southern kingdom is free now. I’m glad you’re here because you and your men will be needed to retain order and make sure Crowley-” here he corrected himself “prince Anthony is crowned king” 

“But… but, he is.. The dragon” Gabriel said numbly. 

“And what of it?” Aziraphale heard his voice grow hard as stone and full of authority he was pretty sure he hadn’t possessed an hour ago. “He has been hunted and attacked and almost murdered by many, including  _ your _ men. He was banished from this kingdom and cursed to live a half life, and now he can finally come back to rule. He killed three of your men, and he has torn himself up over that, but he never would have had to do that if you, if they hadn’t attacked him first.”

Gabriel listened, his mouth locked in a thin line, his eyes wary.. But he listened nonetheless. 

“He is good and brave,“ Aziraphale continued “as you yourself have seen over the months he stayed with us. You’ve gotten to know him and like him and respect him. If all of that means nothing to you, then fine. But know this brother. If you come after him, I will fight you with every ounce of strength I have. Unto death if I have to” 

He saw Gabriel take an involuntary step back at the fierce look in Aziraphale’s eyes. Then, wonder of all wonders, he saw his brother nod tersely, saw him turn to his men and give the order to stand down. “Go find someone of authority in the palace” he said to three of his best men. “Bring them here to this room so that they may see their evil priest dead and so they can meet their new king”

Aziraphale smiled “Thank you brother”. He assisted Crowley so that the other man could sit up next to him, but kept their hands clasped together in his lap. He didn’t think he could let go of Crowley ever again. 

Crowley reached a hand up to Gabriel and Gabriel took it and gave a small bow. “Thank you king Gabriel” Crowley said. “I can never erase the pain I have caused your people from the death of your men, but I can promise from this day forth to promote positive relations between the north and the south, and to lend any aid and assistance to you and your men that you might need.”

“Very well your highness” Gabriel responded stiffly. He was clearly uncomfortable with this new arrangement, and perhaps with the fact that this new king and his brother were apparently very much in love, but he was first and foremost a king himself, and diplomacy was a part and parcel of being a ruler. “I shall join my men in reordering the palace and make sure Hastur had no other cronies looking to cause trouble.” He bowed swiftly again to Crowley, who bowed his head in return and then left the room in a hurry. His men went with him, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone. 

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. Crowley looked back, and the love and affection shining in his eyes almost made Azirapahle cry again, but he swallowed down the tears and smiled instead. “Darling” he said softly. “Darling, we did it”

“Yes” Crowley responded with a grin. “ _ You did _ ”, and before Aziraphale could argue with him or try to push off the praise, he pulled Aziraphale into a fierce kiss. “Help me up angel” he asked when they broke apart a moment or two later. “I need to be away from the sight of that creature” he nodded with his head in the direction of Hastur’s rumpled body where it lay several yards behind where they sat. Aziraphale gladly complied, rising and helping Crowley to stand. 

“How do you feel dearest?” He asked, nervous that some part of Crowley was still lying dead on the floor, nervous that his magic might not have completely healed him.    
  


“I feel strangely alright. What happened? Last thing I remember was coming into this room and Hastur slamming me against the wall”

“You forgot the rest?” Aziraphale asked, voice incredulous

“Yes. I’ve no memory of what happened after that.”

Aziraphale sighed an unhappy sigh at the memories, images that would likely haunt him for many a night to come “He.. he killed you dearest. He stabbed you through the heart and he.. He made me watch.”

“Oh no angel! No! How horrible!” Crowley’s hands flew to Aziraphale’s face, gripping him gently, his eyes searching and worried. He seemed anguished at the prospect of Aziraphale witnessing his death, more so than the fact that he'd died in the first place, and Aziraphale's heart swelled inside his chest at Crowley's loving concern. 

“It’s alright darling. Seeing you dead, thinking I had nothing left to lose, it… well it seemed to have woken up some hidden power inside me. Something that must have been there all along, but had stayed hidden from me before that moment. I was able to release myself from Hastur’s bonds and destroy him with that power. Don’t ask me how. It all felt like a dream. And then… And then I brought you back.”

“From the dead?” Crowley sounded incredulous and impressed at the same time

“Yes darling.”

“Well… thank you angel.” Crowley smiled. “I’m sorry to have worried you so by dying”

“It wasn’t your fault” Aziraphale replied, meaning it as something of a joke, but then dissolving into tears at the memories of Hastur stabbing Crowley in the heart. 

“Sh sh sh hush now angel, it’s alright now” Crowley immediately took Aziraphale into his arms and showered his face with soft, gentle kisses while Aziraphale wept. “It’s alright angel. I’m here now. I’m fine.. Thanks to you”

Aziraphale let Crowley’s soft words and soft kisses and the reassuring feel of his arms around Aziraphale calm his grief and eventually, he stopped crying and disengaged from Crowley’s embrace with a sniff. “Come on” he said, interlacing the Crowley’s fingers with his own and pulling him toward the door to the hallway. “It’s time to go meet your people” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue time! Thank you for all those who hung in there on this journey and for all your comments and kudos. You're the best!

From that point, things progressed slowly but inexorably forward. The people of the palace woke that morning to a very different reality from when they had gone to bed the night before. The evil priest was finally dead and they were free. Many wept and kissed Gabriel’s hand, thinking he was the reason for their freedom, which caused him to turn bight red and have to repeatedly correct them that it had in fact been his brother, the northern priest who’d killed Hastur. 

Aziraphale was subjected to many embraces and many tearful thank yous as they progressed through the palace, which of course also made him turn bright red for a different reason. He felt undeserving of such praise. Crowley swiftly admonished him for brushing off the profuse thanks (“You did a great thing angel. A  _ great _ thing. You deserve all the thanks my people have to give”). The people bowed low before Crowley, still wary of his yellow eyes and flaming hair but knowing that he was a far sight better of a ruler than than the monster Hastur had been. 

Crowley immediately ordered that the dungeons be emptied of their prisoners, and that the palace slaves be released home to their families. He had Hastur’s body removed and burned along with Hastur’s bed, and any other piece of furniture the man had used, not wanting any trace of the foul man to linger inside the palace. The throne itself was marble and so he simply had it scrubbed with harsh lye and hot water several times over. He sent a group of servants to help clean out and prepare his mother’s rooms for Aziraphale and Crowley to use while they worked at reordering the kingdom. Neither of them wanted to stay anywhere that Hastur had recently been. Echoes of the evil priest’s dark magic still lingered here and there in some of the darker corners of the palace, and though it had no master to command it and could no longer harm them, it would still take many a blessing and healing spell to cast it out permanently. 

Only one other life was lost in the coup. Druger, Hastur’s personal servant, had come at one of Gabriel’s men with a knife and had been swiftly dispatched. Luckily, no one else in the palace cared to uphold or defend the priest’s dark legacy. Crowley forgave those that had served under Hastur, for it was clear to him and to Aziraphale that they had been slaves. He relieved them of duty and sent them home to their families with a warning that should they cause any trouble, they would swiftly learn that his forgiveness had sudden limits. 

A week went by, and a coronation was held. Crowley’s father, King Anton’s crown was found where Hastur had had it locked away, and he was sworn in as the new King of the southern lands. The ceremony was conducted by the new priest, a good and reasonable man whose daughter had been kept as a slave to Hastur for several long months, and who now promised to dedicate himself to healing the spiritual lives of the southern people. He placed the crown on Crowley’s head and pronounced him king and the people filling the throne room burst into applause, happy beyond measure to finally have a good ruler back on the throne.

When asked, later, while consulting with his new advisors, (men and women hand selected by himself and Azirphale for their kindness and ingenuity) if he planned to marry and take a queen, Crowley had grinned ear to ear and proclaimed with pride “No. I have no need of a queen, for I have already found myself a prince”. And with that he’d clasped Aziraphale by the hand and grinned at him like a fool. Aziraphale also grinned back, his face burning while the advisors looked on in surprise. 

Aziraphale feared that Crowley’s new cabinet or the palace nobles or the servants would balk at their king loving another man, but they were swift to adjust to the new situation. It seemed that they had learned something about useless superstitions and prejudice after being faced with decades of real, actual evil in the form of Hastur and his cruelty. The people were overjoyed to have a real king back on the throne, and they would swiftly learn to accept and to love Aziraphale, for in truth he was quite easy to love. 

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Once Crowley and Aziraphale had helped to heal and restructure the political life of the kingdom and Crowley had a trusted group of advisors to watch the operations of the palace, they made a trip north together back to Manor Fell. 

After they had greeted the brother’s wives and Aziraphale and then Crowley had given out many fierce hugs to the piles of children who swamped them in the great hall upon their return, the pair went out into the village to visit their friends. Anathema and Newt’s faces glowed with joy to see Crowley, crowned and glowing, Aziraphale’s hand in his own. They were shocked by the news that Crowley was the dragon, but took that in stride as Aziraphale told them the rest of he and Crowley’s incredible story. The Youngs came for a visit as well and all of them sat down to a large dinner together and talked and drank wine and laughed long into the night. Crowley kept Aziraphale’s hand clasped in his most of the time. The two of them had been almost physically inseparable since Azirpahale had brought Crowley back to life. Aziraphale knew that this was due to a fear that Crowley would somehow be taken from him again, but that also, this fear, and this need to always have a hand on Crowley, to always know where he was, would calm as time went by. 

Aziraphale had made Crowley another pair of the special glasses to protect his eyes from the light, but not, he was relieved to realize, to hide his eyes from Aziraphale’s people. Their days of hiding were over. Now, sitting around a table with his dearest friends, he dared to pull Crowley into his lap as the red haired man passed close to his chair, dared to wrap his arms around Crowley and kiss his cheek in front of everyone. Anathema caught his eye and smiled broadly at him. Aziraphale thought he might combust with joy. 

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As the months went by, he and Crowley made regular, quarterly visits up to the northern kingdoms, and eventually, the brothers and their wives, and several groups of children came south to visit them as well. Trade routs between the north and the south that had lain dormant for decades were opened back up, and the people of Manor Fell began to eat mango and banana and octopus and crab along with their broiled meat and potatoes, and the southern people began to use lumber and coal imported from the north to create new wagons and waterwheels that helped them clean and carry and build new homes. 

______________________________________________

Every once in a while, a rogue clan leader or southern rabble rouser decided it was time to come to the new southern king and demand this or threaten that. It always ended the same. The person in question was always escorted to the throne room, having foolishly disbelieved the rumors he’d heard of the new king, and believing the king a pushover like his father, he would invariable stride into the throne room with a demand on his lips, or a sword drawn, and what he would see there would always stop him in his tracks. 

Often what would greet him would be a smiling Aziraphale, dressed in a white, royal robe, with a thin circlet of gold resting in his white-blond hair. He would be sitting on the throne, grinning impishly at the new arrival. Around the throne would be curled a massive black dragon, it’s tail and wings possessively wrapped around the happily smiling blond man in the white robes. The dragon’s head would be resting in the man’s lap and the man would be stroking the dragon’s nose affectionately as he greeted the now dumbfounded person before them. 

“Well hello!” Aziraphale would chirp in a friendly manner. “I hear you have something you’d like to discuss with the king. Could it possibly wait? As you can see, he is napping.” (or something to this effect)

That was usually enough for the ne'er-do-well to flee the throne room and not come back. It was a little game that both Aziraphale and Crowley enjoyed very much. 

Apparently, Hastur had been right about Crowley’s curse. It was in fact irreversible. Not even Aziraphale’s power could heal him. But neither of them really minded. Aziraphale loved Crowley just as much as the dragon as he did when he took the form of a man, though by necessity, they did keep their sexual relationship between their human forms, despite many many jokes made by Crowley that Aziraphale would fold and make love to his dragon form one day. 

The dragon was Crowley and Crowley was the dragon, and the people grew to love and accept him as such. In fact, as the years went by, they grew to develop a deep pride in their dragon king. It was not every kingdom that could boast to be ruled by a half-man, half-fearsome beast and his magician lover and prince consort. The rumors of the happy, prosperous and magical kingdom of the south spread far and wide, and trade routes opened up again with the west and the east as well. 

_______________________________________________

Aziraphale finally had a chance to meet his estranged western cousins from his mother’s side. It was through them, and their careful archiving of historical bloodlines that he learned the secret that his mother had kept from him for so many years. 

His cousin, Elizion (blond and hazel eyed just like his northern kin) had spread the aged, yellowed scroll out before Aziraphale on the large wooden table in Aziraphale’s rooms and had traced the lines for him, written in ancient ink. The lineage spread back from Aziraphale and his mother, up and up, branching and then narrowing until he could see a name that looked familiar, some six generations back. “Lisorna” was written in old, barely legible script. 

“What does this mean?” he asked, dumbfounded and not quite following.

Elizion looked at him with a slow smile spreading across his face. “Dear cousin, you are the direct descendant of a goddess.” he said simply. “One child in every generation is born with the power of Lisorna inside them. Neither I nor any of my siblings, nor any of our other cousins have this gift, and for a while, we thought that it had skipped a generation. And then...we were reminded of our estranged aunt who had married that northern king and had gone away from our lands some fifty odd years ago.”

What his cousin was saying was slowly sinking in. He? Aziraphale the northern priest? Aziraphale the soft spoken teacher of children and reader of books? The direct descendant of Lisorna? Of Liyurna?

“Yes, cousin” Elizion said, his smile broadening into a huge, toothy grin “you are the great, great, great, great, great, grandson of a goddess”.

Aziraphale was speechless and turned to look at Crowley with his eyes shining in wonder. Crowley grinned back and squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder with a warm hand. “This explains a lot angel” he said, joy bubbling in his voice. 

“Oh my..” Aziraphale breathed. “I thought it was all due to the ring..” 

“What ring?” Elizion was suddenly intent

  
“Liyurna gave me a ruby and gold ring. I found it on her altar after I dreamed of her” Aziraphale explained, fishing the ring out from the folds of his white robes where it hung on a sturdy chain around his neck. It was too large and flashy to wear on his hand every day, but he’d always wanted to keep it close to him, and so Crowley had gifted him a chain of gold links on which it hung around his neck each day. 

“The ring!” Elizion exclaimed with surprise, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the thick gold and ruby circlet Aziraphale held out. “This ring has been worn by each direct descendant of Lisorna for as far back as we have recorded history. It disappeared when your mother moved to the north to wed your father. I had forgotten about it over the years, but I’m glad it finally found its rightful owner.”

“Ah. I see...” Aziraphale was finding it difficult to come up with something to say in response. His head was reeling as he listened as his cousin explained further. 

“The ring is only a tool to focus and direct the powers of the goddess. It is not the source of any power. That was all always you Aziraphale”

Aziraphale felt a bit light headed and he gripped Crowley’s hand for support. They talked long into the night about Aziraphale’s family history and the goddess, and her northern name, (Liyurna) and all that Aziraphale had learned about his powers as he grew. 

It was quite late when Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves alone again in their bed chambers. The second Elizion exited and the door shut behind him, Crowley wrapped Aziraphale up in a tight embrace and kissed him passionately. They broke apart, breathless, a few moments later, and Aziraphale stared dazedly into Crowley’s eyes “What was that for?” he asked, body suddenly tingling with want from the feel of Crowley’s soft lips and wet mouth. 

“I can’t help it angel. It seems the prospect of making love to a demi-god is getting me a bit riled up.” 

Aziraphale grinned broadly at that, his eyes fixed on Crowley’s sensual, parted lips, his arms tight around Crowley’s narrow waist, feeling the lanky, slender length of him pressed against Aziraphale’s soft, stocky body. “Ah my dearest dragon” he said in a husky voice, tinged with mirth “I have many magical tricks to show you” and with that, he leaned in and kissed Crowley again, pulling his lover tighter against him by the hips so that he could feel what Crowley’s touch and his flirtation was doing to Aziraphale. 

They swiftly made their way to the bed where Aziraphale gently removed Crowley’s clothes and slowly, lovingly took him apart, kiss by kiss. When he was done, Crowley returned the favor, pulling sharp cries of pleasure from Aziraphale with clever moves with his mouth and hands. Afterwards, they lay, breathless and happy in each other’s arms. 

“You’ve found a new devotee” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck as Aziraphale stroked gentle fingers through his long red hair. 

“Good” Aziraphale replied with a lazy smile. “I shall require daily devotions and many sacrifices to be kept happy. I have a preference for copper haired men. _Naked_ copper haired men to be precise”

  
“I’ll see to it that you’re well satisfied then” Crowley rumbled, then started pressing soft little kisses to Aziraphale’s neck, which predictably made him tingle and gasp and clutch Crowley tighter to him. But before Crowley could escalate the velvety presses of his lips into something more involved, Aziraphale gently gripped him by the hair and tugged back until he could look Crowley in the eyes. 

“I love you Crowley” he said gravely and with much feeling.

“And I love you angel. So very much” Crowley replied with a smile. "My dragon's heart loves you more than you could ever know". And then he kissed Aziraphale and kissed him and kissed him until they melted into each other again. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
